On First Reading Mary Oliver at The Sourwood Inn and Other Poems
by Kimberly Phinney
On First Reading Mary Oliver at the Sourwood Inn
I still think of the gnarled, rocking hands
of the old physician.
And his cataract eyes in a cloudy blue
like the mountains framed
in the paned
glass before us.
And the folded sliver of paper—
another kind of scalpel—
shaking before me.
Read, he said,
And enjoy your stay
at the Sourwood Inn.
With open windows,
swaying white sheers,
and my husband asleep
beside me,
I read the poem
to the wind and rain
of Asheville,
and I was changed:
a nudge, a gentle epiphany,
or a sprawling sense of knowing…
I do not know which cut
to my heart it was,
but I was captured
and held tight in the storm.
And yet
I cannot remember that poem—
its name, its words,
what it said, or where it went.
Since I have known her,
I have bought Mary,
read her and searched
for that poem again and again:
in gardens, in sickness,
in plenty, and in the mountains
of my mind—
just to find that sense of life.
And I still do not know
which one it is,
but perhaps
it was about dancing.
On Psalm 84
Come!
Sit and sip the air in through those boisterous lungs of yours.
Then stay silent for a little while.
Go out, walk widely, and watch the birds
as they follow their roads in the sky toward their homes at night.
The trees await the sparrows to cradle their nests and hoards—
all provided for.
The earth rests in a gentle hum, warm from the day’s sun for the marsh rabbits to settle into.
Stand at the wood’s edge and touch the coming shadows.
Then drink and listen to the air slow dance in the longleaf pines
as the gray fox retraces her steps to her burrow,
and the bluegill drops down into his muddy-water cave.
Go quietly and see how stars are sometimes tucked behind clouds—
Orion’s Belt draped in a resting constellation
or Aquarius in repose.
Even the sun goes to sleep in the horizon’s crest,
as the moon awakes from Heaven’s meadow to sing its lullaby.
Oh, how there is shelter for every one!
And for every shelter there is a soul in want!
And we too, the watchers, are in search of rest—
a place where we can retrace our steps back to the beginning:
a dwelling or a tabernacle.
Lord, either one will do!
On Psalm 84 was first published with Calla Press.
Kimberly Phinney is a mom, wife, and child of God. As a professional helper and artist, Kimberly is an English professor, as well as a counselor and photographer. Her writing has been published in Ekstasis, Fathom, Calla Press, Humana Obscura, The Dewdrop, and more. After surviving a severe form of Stage 4 Endometriosis and sepsis in 2021, she is now earning her doctorate in counseling to help the marginalized and suffering. She is the founder and editor of this faith community and literary journal, The Way Back to Ourselves, and was recently featured on ABC News and Good Morning America for her national teaching award and the compelling health story surrounding it. As a mental health and disabilities advocate, Kimberly hopes to use her life, story, and art to help others find their way back to wholeness and faith in a world that has gone loud. She is glad you are here.