It's National Poetry Month, and to celebrate, I'm sharing a poem each day. Today's is a sad one, though I think it's incredibly beautiful. In the past several months, Redding has seen three suicides, the most recent of which occurred yesterday. I can't help but wonder why. Is it the desperation felt after losing one's job? There have been massive layoffs recently at many large companies. Is it sheer loneliness? If so, what can we do as a community to mitigate the problem? In such a small town, it's hard to imagine why anyone should feel so alone, or, if the root cause is mental illness, why are people afraid to seek help? Mental Illness shouldn't be a source of shame. The more we can talk about these difficult subjects, the closer we come to a resolution.
With a sad and pensive mind, I share a favorite poem by Nobel Prize winner Wisława Szymborska
I'll bet you think the room was empty.
Wrong. There were three chairs with sturdy backs.
A lamp, good for fighting the dark.
A desk, and on the desk a wallet, some newspapers.
A carefree Buddha and a worried Christ.
Seven lucky elephants, a notebook in a drawer.
You think our addresses weren't in it?
Wrong. A comforting trumpet poised in black hands.
Saskia and her cordial little flower.
Joy the spark of gods.
Odysseus stretched on the shelf in life-giving sleep
after the labors of Book Five.
The moralists with the golden syllables of their names
inscribed on finely tanned spines.
Next to them, the politicians braced their backs.
No way out? But what about the door?
No prospects? The window had other views.
His glasses lay on the windowsill.
And one fly buzzed---that is, was still alive.
You think at least the note could tell us something.
But what if I say there was no note---
and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly
inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.