poetry helps me breathe

I went for a walk this morning, as I've done most days over the last three weeks of our shelter-in-place efforts. And today, in an attempt to take social distancing more seriously, I decided to walk up and down the alleys that run behind the homes in our neighborhood rather than the streets and sidewalks where almost all foot traffic exists. I know the north-south alley behind my house quite well, but as I switched back across blocks to the west I realized that even one block over, my neighborhood was completely unrecognizable to me. I've lived here for more than a decade and at least casually know most of my neighbors but from this new perspective, I couldn't tell you who lived where. I didn't recognize the homes at all. I was one block from home, seeing the neighborhood with brand new eyes.

Even more shocking still, some of the alleys in my Chicago neighborhood aren't paved. Again, I think I casually knew this somewhere in the back of my mind but moving by foot from paved roads to gravel just two blocks west of my little home caught my attention this morning. The gravel crunched beneath my sneakers in a most unexpected and familiar way.

And as I walked on, a Poetry Unbound podcast episode moved to the top of my queue. I heard Pádraig Ó Tuama read a poem called “Leaving Early” by Leanne O’Sullivan. He reflected on the way poetry helps him slow down - helps him breathe.

And poetry, for me, poetry is a thing that helps me breathe. There’s space on the page for my own imagination to fill in the bits that I need, and poetry makes me slow down in my reading. I never skim-read a poem. I read it out loud to myself, and it slows my heart down; it slows my breathing down, and it helps my lungs to fill.

This morning, as I slowed down, saw my neighborhood from a new perspective, and listened to Pádraig read me this lovely poem, I couldn't help but think about the way we're seeing so many people in our world with new eyes. Medical professionals especially, but also the cashier at the grocery store, the bus driver, the janitor - essential workers. Essential. Our neighborhood cannot exist without them. Why did it take a pandemic for us to notice?

And then the reality of Leanne O'Sullivan's nurse hit me. "She too journeyed through a storm..." We are all struggling through this pandemic - none more so than the essential workers. They are not immune. Their kids hate e-learning. They can't get the right grocery-delivery window. They're worried about elderly parents.

And even in better times, we are all just struggling through it.

Pádraig tells an amazing story of love in the face of fear, hardship, and struggle.

I’ve got a friend who works in the healthcare system who was telling me that they’re washing their hands in the hospital with floor cleaner, because people had come in and taken some hand sanitizer. And so, obviously, all workers in hospitals are washing their hands constantly, and the only thing available was floor cleaner. They sent me a picture of their hands, chapped and awkward. And they were saying that their boss has begun saying to the team of people in the hospital that “I love you,” at the end of their shifts, because it’s important. And love has come into the workplace in a really serious way in these days. Ways in which people who are doing an almost impossible job with graciousness, with fortitude, and with perseverance and patience are being shored up by the love of each other, is a really beautiful thing.

Love has always been in the workplace, the grocery store, the post-office, the nursing home, the hospital, the neighborhood, the buildings, and the back alleys - we're just now seeing it with new eyes.

May we all say "I love you" at the end of our shifts... because it's important.