The seed head of a dandelion is a terribly fragile thing—the slightest breath of wind can blow it all apart. Which is exactly what it was meant to do. If it were tough and sturdy, no new dandelions would ever get planted.
How have you brought new life from the places where you’ve felt most fragile?
Like so often happens when I first ponder this sort of question, a line from a Carly Simon song comes to mind. It has saved me more than once.
“Don’t mind if I fall apart, there’s more room in a broken heart. I believe in love, what else can I do”.
My most fragile, uncertain moments are when I’m with my very good friend who has Parkinson’s disease. He wants desperately to be independent, especially when walking with a walker when away from the security of his apartment. I try not to interfere or offer assistance unless he agrees to accept help; watching him being unable to stand and, in the process, having his feet tangled since he has no feeling in them makes me lose control of my emotions. If we get through episodes of danger, I feel that I’ve stuck by him and that we, together, have shown courage together. Some times, though, are more successful than others. The thorn in my side is whether he wants any help at all; if not he is telling us that he prefers to be in danger of falling and probably adding to his medical problems to a great extent.
When I write a poem, I often start at a place where I feel vulnerable or even broken. The deeper the emotion (whether positive, negative, neutral, or some kind of mix), the more vulnerable I feel – and the more fertile the ground is for a poem.
Interesting, Sometimes when there is a colossal happening, whether good or bad, I seem able to express myself in what I call poetry too.