Poetry and Healing

The Poetry Society of Texas’ 2023 A Book of the Year arrived in my mail a couple of days ago. The collection of winning poems from the 2022 monthly and annual contests includes two pieces by me. “Upon Running into a Former Sweater at Goodwill” won the Old South Prize, and “Eating the Watermelon Moon” won the Anthony Dickson Memorial Award.

I’m really happy both of these poems found a home. The one about the sweater has always gotten a laugh at readings, and I like the fact that behind the silliness, there’s a deeper meaning about letting go of the past and not falling back into old habits or bad relationships. And the watermelon moon poem is just one of those weird little pieces that came to me mostly formed. I’ve played with the structure of it over the years—longer lines, shorter lines, word placement—but the words themselves never really changed. I love the imagery and how it appeals (hopefully) to the reader’s senses.

Despite how happy I am to see these two poems in print, receiving this book also gave me a creepy feeling.

I submitted my entries to the PST annual contests last August from my husband’s hospital room where he was being treated for a strange illness. (He’s fine now.) In November, I received the news that two of my poems had won prizes while I was in my mom’s hospital room where she was recovering from unexpected surgery. (She’s fine now.) When the copy of the 2023 A Book of the Year arrived at my door last week, I had just returned home from the hospital where I had surgery. (I’m recovering well and will be fine soon.)

The coincidences of these events initially sent a shiver down my spine. Some people might see the connection as a bad omen, linking the poems to illness and stress and negative experiences. Some might vow not to enter the PST contests this year.

But, after thinking about it, I don’t see things that way.

Editing and submitting poems and barely meeting the deadline for submission was a great distraction for me during those first couple of days in the hospital with my husband. Back then, we still didn’t know what was wrong with him. No one did. I had so little control over anything at that time, it was nice to be able to focus on something concrete while he was sleeping and I was waiting for answers.

Sharing the news with my mom about my poems winning awards was another happy distraction during her difficult ordeal. I read her my poems while she was still loopy from her medication, so she may not have a vivid memory of them, but it was still nice, for just a moment, to think about poetry instead of pain.

And having a book of poetry show up at your door is never a bad thing, especially when you’re currently stuck in bed with plenty of time to read.

Poetry is healing. The fact that these poetic experiences showed up when I needed them is not a sign of something sinister, but rather a gift for which to be grateful. There’s no jinx on this collection of poems. I look forward to reading it and submitting more of my work to PST this August.

Here are my two poems from the Poetry Society of Texas’ 2023 A Book of the Year, along with a drawing I did to go with the second one. Enjoy!

Upon Running into a Former Sweater at Goodwill

It’s always awkward seeing it there
lounging on the rack with the other clothes.
You instantly recognize the familiar wear and tear,
the pen mark on the pocket and the slouchy way 
it shrugs one shoulder off the hanger.
But there’s something different about it too—
Wasn’t it more faded than that?
Hadn’t its sleeves stretched out from overuse?
And if not, why did you ever give it up?
You blush at your next thought and glance around,
but no one suspects the truth—
that you two used to live together,
knew each other’s curves intimately.
You’re embarrassed by your desire
to take back this former love, bring it home, 
reintroduce it to the laundry schedule.
Don’t.
It hasn’t changed as much as you think.  
You won’t even be home again 
before you notice its old flaws.
Remember how high maintenance it was?
Too good for the washing machine,
always demanding a date with the dry cleaner?
Deep down you know it no longer fits.
It’s best to just keep walking.

© Carie Juettner

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May you and your loved ones be well. And if you’re going through something tough and looking for a distraction, I recommend a little poetry.