Poet Laura: Goodbye—and Hello!

Time flies—it’s a cliche, yet an undeniable truth. Here I am, in the final month of my term as Poet Laura, looking back on all I’ve learned about grief, gratitude, trust, and best of all, joy, over the course of a year.

When Laura Barkat offered me this beautiful and meaningful role, I feared my grief at my mother’s passing would prevent me from filling it properly. I worried I’d become too weighed down, too flattened, to engage with the world, much less write. But I trusted Laura’s gentle guidance—that my grief might offer a generative space, and this role, a pathway forward via words.

I put pen to paper as well as I could. Sometimes I struggled, sometimes I froze, but gradually, I learned simply to give myself space and time to breathe, and to grieve, as often as needed.

As I wrote, I realized that my lens on the world had changed. Grief had etched new grooves into it, allowing me to see new angles and different dimensions and shades.

As I wrote, I came to accept that new lens and to look through it without resistance. When I did, I saw my mother’s beauty and playfulness peeking at me in unexpected locations and forms—in flowing water, cups of spiced tea, decorative wrappings, even cheerful rubber ducks.

As I wrote, I remembered that, behind the curtain of heaviness and sorrow that enveloped me, life was still out there. As Ellen Bass expressed so well in The Thing Is, I could reach for it again, when I was ready:

. . . you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

The year unfolded, month by month, post by post, and I wrote toward that life beyond the curtain. I immersed myself in whimsical Poet Laura “assignments,” observing and playing, sipping tea and tasting chocolate. I walked through the woods, and I sat by the water. I wrote poetry destined for the moon, and I read poetry to the chickens of Danville.

As I did all of this, I found bits of brightness and pieces of light. I rediscovered wonder. I felt the air around me begin to move again, refreshing and inspiring me.

And just as I’d hoped at the beginning of my term, I began to walk more lightly.

Lessons in Gratitude & Trust

These days, it’s not difficult to publish our words. Personal blogs and social media offer that space.

But Tweetspeak is not just any space. It’s a garden, one that’s been cultivated with care and planted with varied seeds by attentive stewards. It’s a place of beauty and civility and kindness. I’m so thankful for the opportunity I’ve been given—indeed, entrusted with—to tend a corner of that space for a short time.

I have tried to honor that trust by sharing my words with honesty and openheartedness.

In the past I have wondered (as many other writers do, I suspect) whether sending my words into the world was akin to shouting into the void, into nothingness. This year I learned that, whether or not they find their way to readers, my words add to and build up ecosystems like Tweetspeak that are dedicated to nourishment and growth and inspiration.

Lessons in Fun & Joy

Along with the more serious lessons of the year, there were also many, many about joy:

The joy of play. The part of me that’s too serious, that dreads being silly and looking foolish, got to meet the part that delights in humor and whimsy and even absurdity. I remembered it’s okay to play, imagine, dream, and even lie back on the grass, doing nothing at all. As I did, I felt my heart fill up—and I found myself laughing again.

The joy of trying something new. At first, I felt daunted by my new role, not to mention the goal of producing twelve essays and multiple poems over the course of a year. But as the year unfolded, I relished exploring and engaging with unfamiliar spaces and unusual topics. My well of writing ideas began to replenish and my writing goals, to reemerge.

• The joy of paying attention. This year, I began to pay closer attention to the “littleness” through which life presents itself. When I did, I experienced the pleasure of tiny things and small moments swelling open and revealing their texture and color, their profundity and meaning.
• The joy of community. It has been wonderful to work in partnership with an entire community of writers and readers, as well as with wise and compassionate editors. Thank you, Will Willingham, for your insight and guidance this year. Thank you, Laura Barkat, for inspiring and encouraging me. And thank you to all the “Lauras” who have lit up this path and this year for me.

I am deeply grateful for every one of these lessons.

To those who have followed my column this year, I thank you for tending this bit of garden alongside me, for looking where I looked—under the rocks and amid the flower beds and among the trees. Thank you for listening to my take on poetry and art and life.

It’s been an honor to be your Poet Laura.

Introducing Poet Laura 2024

Meet our next Poet Laura: Michelle Ortega! I’ve had the great pleasure of attending a Tweetspeak class with Michelle a few years ago, and also reading her luminous poetry.

As a quiet child and angst-y teen, Michelle loved to read and write. When poetry found her again about fifteen years ago, the Tweetspeak community brought her multiple resources on her journey, from content to courses to in-person meetups. She also hosted Tweetspeak’s very first Mischief Cafe!

A speech-language pathologist by day, Michelle’s avocations include travel across the country and the globe, as well as digital and black and white film photography. You can find her work at www.michelleortegawrites.com and on IG @michellebelleslp.

As you might imagine, Poet Laura does not pass on a hefty torch or an urgent baton, but rather, something lively and light and buoyant: a feather.

Michelle, with this feather, I wish you a year of surprise, delight, excitement and ever-flowing words! I look forward to seeing the role of Poet Laura grow, thrive, and flourish under your watch.

What’s next for Poet Dheepa? The Year of the Monarch!

As I relinquish the title of Poet Laura, I’m glad to report that I’m not leaving Tweetspeak’s garden just yet. I’m also making a foray into another garden—my own!

It’s Tweetspeak’s Year of the Monarch. Together with my partner-in-flight Laura Boggess (also a former Poet Laura!), I will be sharing what I’m learning about the monarch butterfly and its depleted populations, and what I’m doing as a (beginning) gardener to restore its habitat.

I hope you’ll join me in taking Tweetspeak’s Pollinator Pledge and planting milkweed in your garden to restore the habitat of this magnificent butterfly. I love this idea—all of us, tending our own gardens, and each other’s, and of course, Tweetspeak’s.

Let’s continue to invite inspiration, conversation, perspectives, and of course, many, many monarchs!

Goodbye, and Hello!

Here, behind the flowers I’ve planted,
is a door from love into love,
into another Spring
into the beautiful Next.

-Dheepa R. Maturi

Be well, my friends!

Photo by Vitorio Benedetti, Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Dheepa R. Maturi.

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Dheepa R. Maturi

Dheepa R. Maturi is a writer of poetry, essays, and fiction. As an aspiring optimist, she loves to explore themes like connection, hope, and environmental harmony. Dheepa's first novel, entitled 108, combines all of those themes into an eco-thriller. Dheepa's work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, New York Quarterly, The Fourth River, and the book How to Write a Form Poem and more. Find her at www.DheepaRMaturi.com

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