Kelly Garriott Waite
Eight Eleven
At the end of the 800s,
a wheeled cart holds two
books which belong to the
poetry section. Both are by
Mary Oliver, who died two
days ago. I think of the 811s
and all the beauty folded into
those books standing side by side,
like soldiers of beauty and love.
With more poetry, I thought,
perhaps there would be less war, but
I wondered whether—with less war,
less tragedy, were the world kinder
and humans less wasteful—the
need for poetry would be less. I guess
what I’m asking is whether poetry
needs tragedy to exist? Can a poet
write about beauty without knowing
ugliness, love without hatred? Do
poets need the thing they despise in
in order to create their work which
will bring some comfort and delight,
like the chocolate syrup that last
week flooded an Arizona highway
when a tanker detached itself from
the truck and spilled its contents
onto the road. For a while we had sweetness
at our border, lovely and delicious and
necessary as poetry. Now, I slip two
volumes from the poetry section
and wait at the checkout. In a few
days, employees wearing headphones
will quietly slip them back where they
belong, neatly ordering this disordered world.
Poems and flash fiction by Kelly Garriott Waite have appeared in The Hopper, Allegro Poetry Review, Belt Magazine, The Woven Tale Press, and bioStories.