Too many people think all poems are hard to understand, require a working knowledge of Latin, and require a teacher who is determined to lead (force) you to an interpretation (THEIR interpretation) you could never get to on your own.

I fall in love with poems all the time. Even before I wrote poems, I came across them and cut them out of magazines or photocopied them for 5 cents a page at the local library. And I fall in love not often because of the whole poem, and almost never after due consideration of the “deeper meaning.” I fall in love with specific lines, metaphors, even titles.

For example: “The Human Race: My Yelp Review” is a title I just couldn’t pass up. I immediately thought of how my own Yelp review of the human race would sound, what I’d say. I expected humor and anger, sadness and transcendence, and I got them all. “I really wanted to like this species, but other kids left a lot to be desired”–true, and hilarious. “Middle school IF I COULD GIVE IT ZERO STARS I WOULD”–absolutely! “And no one warned me that guys snap/their fingers at waitresses, drivers tailgate, fools talk in the train’s quiet car”–yeah. Why didn’t anyone warn us before we came here? “But when I hear my mix tape, meet the librarian who made a Reading Trail/through the park posted with pages of funny kid books…decorate the community club for an eightieth birthday”–(and more, so much more!)–“Would come back. Would hurry back. Totally coming back.” Poet:

And then there was “Snowshoe Hare,” which I thought I’d skim because while there are white hares in the Scottish Highlands, north of where I live now, I didn’t think they were snowshoe hare, but the first line was “I was reckless as a child.” Ooh, I thought, so was I! The speaker walked, collected feathers, “wanted to be seen.” Her mother told her that she was vulnerable, so eventually she came to “understand/the way of night./What it is to hide. To run.” But, as so many of us resist the idea that it’s our job to prevent violence perpetrated against us, so does this poet. “I make the Gods/attend.”

I have an email folder just called “Poems,” where I collect poems that were emailed to me (because I subscribe to a bunch of free poetry magazines and newsletters) and that I fell in love with. A line here, a title there, a topic, a tone, an ending that leaves me blown open. Get out there. Look around. Fall in love. Poetry really is for us all.