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Then Comes the Lady in Blue


(“...But to the sound of his passing/he sings.  It is a kind of triumph/that he grieves— thinking of the white lilacs in bloom, profuse, fragrant, white in excess of all seasonal need,/and of the mockingbird’s crooked/arrogant notes , hooking him to the sky/as though no flight/or dying could equal him/at his momentary song.”   From,”A Man Walking and Singing,”    
By Wendell Berry)
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Was I so born,
As a poet?
Having a character with more of a way of perceiving
From birth, than having a way with language?
A personality more attuned to the motions
Of the All and great unknown we share
Than being keyed into phrasing trends and
The currents of popular word usages?

Have I not always been a poet?  A translator
Of life to the living, seeking the reality of the inner
Urgent Voice?  More than a being
Simply unto myself?  But, lacking the confidence
Until now, in this old age to know or declare so...
That I am a poet?  And wondering these things, while
Facing a complex, life-threatening  surgery?  
Heaven sent a sign.
Outside the hospital, awaiting my appointment,
I was praying, while reading a volume of the poems
Of Wendell Berry, when a woman came from behind me,
From seemingly nowhere and said, “I see you are
Reading poetry,” (although I wondered why she hadn’t said
“Hear” instead, for I had been gasping out beautiful lines
To my husband next to me).  Then, there beside me 
She came wearing
Stark blue pants and top, absolutely matching
The brilliant first day of autumn we were in, as if she’d 
Landed directly from the sky: blue from blue
And, she sat down beside us,
In a moment of spontaneous interaction, 
And began to soliloquize
The classic child’s verse “Little Boy Blue,” with
Such an appreciation that it sounded nothing
Of the nursery  at all, but more a tale 
Of a living and dying for adults to hear.
And all in all, it was alarming!
Questioning in my heart if my meaning in life
Is to be fully a poet, as I was reading poetry
And God sent a woman in blue to match the day and 
Then sit beside us to  recite from her memory
The lines of the poem of a little boy in blue 
Who had lived and died fully in a poem.
The questions thus were answered and meant
To be nothing but accepted: I have been and
Am a poet fully through from birth, a resonance of being.
Had not the Lord reached to pluck a bloom from
Along the border growth of heaven’s gardens to lift
A brightest blue delphinium
That would match his sky and found a metaphor
For a child of poetry?  Had he then let the delphinium
Flutter down to its calling as a message,
As a poem for a vessel to recite its lines to a poet —
And even my husband admitted his amazed witness
To the God-sent sign, such as my past mystical events stood
Only as privately -known accounts I’ve then related to others.
Yet, yes, this  was an answer sent to witness —
A past and a reassurance of blossoming health,
As well as a foretelling of personal purpose
As it was born within its keeping soul...
The blue lady came more
Than a sudden, passing angel.  She came in poems
Wrapped in raining blue petals
Of a Christ-authored metaphor.


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(C) sally Young eslinger 2020
With thanks & glory to God for this true account
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