'I Wake With Wonder': A Crowdsourced Poem Of Pandemic Pain And Hope
The past year has been heavy and affected us in both small and big ways.
Now, millions of Americans have been vaccinated, businesses are reopening and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention loosened guidance on mask-wearing for vaccinated people. As many begin to take steps to come out on the other side of the pandemic, Morning Edition asked NPR's audience to write a poem using Maya Angelou's poem "Still I Rise" as inspiration.
We received hundreds of responses, and NPR's resident poet Kwame Alexander took lines from submissions to create a community poem about the challenges of the past year and hope for times ahead.
"I Wake With Wonder"
I wake with wonder
and dive into the day
I grasp for my phone like a lifeline, a buoy,
I rise among the displaced dreams of yore
Supplanted plans, disrupted from the year
So distanced from all social life before
I set out on my way
To make snacks for three kids
because that's all I seem to do with them here all the damn day
And it's hard work.
'Cause it's heart work.
This is artwork.
Like the sap in the maple tree
knowing it's time to feed its budding branches.
Like seedlings struggling towards the light,
even though I need a baptism of magic waters to cure all that aches
I don my gowns and masks and gloves
Tend to the sick, the lost, the tired, the dead.
I say a prayer, talk to God
think of things I love:
Birds and flowers and books
dandelions, earthworms, mosses,
all those things I never thought
to love, or not enough.
even when the news of the day
makes me want to stay in bed
Even when the outlook is bleak:
I've not seen my eighth graders smile. Or smirk.
my neighbor cut down the massive oak
that shaded my yard,
My wife died alone In an skilled nursing facility bed.
Oh yes I mourn those we have lost
And the cost of human lives
But still I rise
Still ire eyes
Cry for those who are gone
Who have marched on
Still fire eyes
Burn for justice denied
Flame hot for truth
even when our spirits feel deflated
because this too shall be past
because we are made of stardust
I am A new breath in an older body
with A future to ponder.
I no longer take hugs for granted.
The music at church yesterday, with
full choir, was glorious.
I sing of loss and grief and hope,
Of joy and pain and memory,
Of yesterday and tomorrow.
I became best friends with my computer.
And learned something spectacular:
Disconnection has connected us more than ever.
The Zoom "LEAVE" button calls for me
So, I am easing out of this rabbit hole
I will find my equilibrium and my verve
Be who I am.
Lose 40 lbs and improve my mental health
meet every patient
as they are
and care for them
as best I can
Try to celebrate
The fact of my existence
Birds tweeting, wind blowing, leaves rustling. I notice it all now.
I like this new world.
Even though I'm in my nineties,
I have learned to love more
the old man across the hall
who has trouble with his eyes.
the touchy woman down the street
In this world of
Bad audio connections,
I have learned to listen
After such stillness,
Nothing's the same.
I rise on this new day
out of bed like a miracle.
I tie my own shoes.
I linger with a full
pot of Barry's Irish tea, each slurp
an act of contemplative prayer
I spend so many days watching my child grow
mourning dove pretends to be an owl,
a cardinal rides a slip of a limb, up and down.
What was simple is made extravagant.
So I lift my gaze
To hike up, not give up
To sing out, not cry out
to like who I am, even when, especially when, I stand alone.
return to my books to find support
to make the coffee.
to watch ducklings
drop to waterglory
following Mama hen
through fervent streams.
To fill each day, not miss one
to see the world full on.
to pace the house at midnight,
watching the moon wax and wane,
to live and love
To create a world of generosity
A world where we are inspired
To help each other in every moment
So rise, my friends, rise up
All one heart
Be the change
and when you wonder
How you will likely spend your life
With the time left to borrow
To fight is to be human, for times short or longer,
For through the struggle, we may hope to become stronger.
This community poem was created using submissions by:
Heidi Glenn, an NPR editor in Washington, D.C.
David Epstein, West Hartford, Conn.
Paul Constantine, Boulder, Colo.
Edward Ruete, Niantic, Conn.
Elizabeth Wind, White Plains, N.Y.
Nancy Macchia, Boston
Laura Gudmundson, Lanesboro, Minn.
Nina Mosko, Alexandria, Va.
Sue Miles, Buckingham, Va.
Angel Limb, Glen Allen, Va.
Scott March, Somerville, Mass.
Maria Briones, Kalaheo, Hawaii
Tim Kinsella, Marshfield, Mass.
Carissa Papp, Falls Church, Va.
Whittney Hooks, Montross, Va.
Rhiannon Schmidt, Houghton, Mich.
Cydney Buchholz, Alabaster, Ala.
Bob Lemon, Norman, Okla.
Barbara Skidmore, Towson, Md.
Rahul Swali, Albany, N.Y.
Paul Sproul, North Dighton, Mass.
Haley Zapal, Atlanta
Anna Lukacs, Washington, D.C.
Nicholas Bottesini, Oxford, Miss.
Matthew Finnegan, Hingham, Mass.
Sanford Cassel, Charleston, S.C.
John Brewer, New Albany, Ind.
Elena Mityushina, Maple Grove, Minn.
Aaron Arm, Brooktondale, N.Y.
Lisa Fuller, Worthington, Ohio
Stephen Thomas, Wooster, Ohio
Derek Siegler, Hinesburg, Vt.
Kate McGloughlin, Olivebridge, N.Y.
B.J. Connor, Salisbury, N.C.
Liz Cormack, Boston
Kaity Stone, Fort Worth, Texas
Joan Halperin, Canton, Mass.
Panfila Gwynne Villegas-Bussell, Corpus Christi, Texas
Leigh Barry, Marquette, Mich.
Will Andrews, Hopkinton, Mass.
Katharine Abbruzzese, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Seth Engel, Rapid City, S.D.
Cady Burkhart, Pasadena, Calif.
Helena Taylor, West Allis, Wis.
Caryl Morris, West Newton, Mass.
Sara Wilcox, Ayer, Mass.
Kendra Wagner, Seattle
Tamara Nichols, Livingston, Texas
Edward Dougherty, Corning, N.Y.
Millicent Motzny, Waterford, Mich.
Barbara Bradley, Eagan, Minn.
Natalie Geenen, Chicago
Stella Plein, St. Louis
Diane Wiener, San Francisco
Sarah Pomranka, Longmont, Colo.
Alice White, Pompadour, Kansas
Margaret Simon, New Iberia, La.
Kathleen Dunckel, Harrisville, Mich.
Copyright 2021 NPR. To see more, visit https://www.npr.org.