I am not usually one for poetry, as it often takes too much effort to figure out a deep meaning behind the words. If I had to choose a favorite poet, however, e. e. cummings would be it. After a brief study of his work during my high school years, his quirky style, light-hearted (yet deceptively profound) words played whimsical games on the pages before me, enchanting enough to claim a treasured spot in my long-term memory.
Two days ago, during one of my regular check-ins with a fellow blogger, the all-too-often heartbreaking news of another baby lost boldly crossed my screen, the black letters brazenly crushing hope. The anguish reared its crushingly dark face in place of what should have been brightly miraculous news. My heart sank as another potential family dissipated into the universe, swallowed up by whatever keeps taking our babies away.
While the heartbreak lingered, a glimmer of encouragement arrived via the first reader comment: a posting of the poem [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] by E. E. Cummings : Poetry Magazine. It was the perfect response for such an imperfect situation. Since reading those words, I cannot stop thinking about the haunting meaning, melancholy and comforting. For the first time, I read a poem that spoke directly to me. I finally understood the deeper meaning. The full appreciation of poetry is not founded in understanding the meaning behind why the author wrote it, but rather it is to discover what the words mean to me. While e.e. cummings probably didn’t write this about pregnancy loss, I cannot imagine a better interpretation to glean from it for those of us living in this world.