Vox Populi
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James Crews: Losing Heart | Poem and reflection
Losing Heart
It’s not like misplacing the car keys
or forgetting your mother’s address.
You know it’s impossible to actually lose
the heart working so hard in the chest,
resting for only the slimmest of instants
between beats. Yet you wake some days
patting empty pockets, digging through
every drawer in the house, searching
under the bed and couch. In the space
of a night, the hope that burned bright—
flowing like a medicine in your veins—
can drain from the body, leaving you
bereft in bed and getting up only
to bathe yourself in the sickly light
of the fridge, the glow of screens.
Yet you can trust that the heart never
goes far, never abandons you for longer
than you can handle. You might be
driving to work one stormy morning,
scowling at every car that passes you
when it happens again—that sudden
leap in the chest as you see the rain-
slick blacktop shining blue in places
where it gives back the sky, and then
you’re anchored again in that faithful
rhythm by which you love the world.
~~~
This poem came to me as a gift at the end of a very difficult day. I was driving the same stale, hour-long route that morning to a job where I had never felt valued or respected by colleagues. I loved the students I was teaching, but the long commute each way in traffic, and the disconnect from co-workers sent me home each night feeling empty and dissatisfied. I was quickly losing heart, and wondering if I’d ever get it back, when the smallest of miracles happened. Even though I didn’t want to be where I was, driving in the aftermath of a winter storm, I noticed something. Each of the puddles held in dips in the asphalt, where potholes had been filled in, reflected back a striking blue sky that had at last overtaken the gray. I looked up and then down again at those patches of blue, feeling what I can only describe as delight—that “faithful rhythm” by which we each come to love the world. It did not fix my situation, of course, but accessing a sense of child-like wonder made life, and that day at least, much more livable. If nothing else, a mindful moment like this can remind us that the world is here, just waiting a heartbeat away for us to notice and appreciate its many small offerings—to feel the whole-body thrill of being brought back to the present, and out of the trap of the thinking mind. In that more fertile and compassionate heart-space, we are able to stay open the daily miracles that find us. By loving the world at hand, we also come to love ourselves and our own place in it.
~~~
Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Describe what it feels like when you “lose heart.” Can you recall a specific instance when some bit of beauty or surprising sight outside of yourself brought you back to the moment and inspired you, reconnecting you with your body and a sense of greater compassion for yourself and the world?
James Crews is the recipient of the Prairie Schooner Prize and Cowles Prize. His writing has been featured in The New York Times Magazine, The New Republic, Ploughshares, and Sun Magazine.
Copyright 2024 James Crews. From Unlocking the Heart: Writing for Courage and Self-compassion (Simon and Schuster, 2024)
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Think I discovered James through Vox Popiuli. I am thankful for Michael’s curation and the fellowship of poets.
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As am I.
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I love this piece, James. You are the quintessential lemonade-maker of the lemons in our lives. (I had a similar teaching experience as the one you describe) Here’s to the transformation of lemons!
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James is a balm for the soul and the psyche everyday ❤️
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yes he is!
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Thanks, reminded me to get my elderly butt outside and sit in the swing with my coffee, of course. The dew sheen was still glistening, some birds were having a domestic dispute and some insect, maybe cicadas, were harmonizing in the surrounding drowsy trees; much more soothing than Meet the Press.
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Oh yes. We need to take a break from the Trump disaster every now and then, go outside and listen to the birds.
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What a perfect pair: James Crews’ poem seeing the sky in a puddle in the asphalt and the Navajo prayer praising Beauty that is all around us…
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So glad you noticed the pairing, Laure-Anne! Sometimes the synchronicity of the dual posts in VP provides an extra step in the reader’s experience.
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James Crews has a way of finding the luminous in small things, like sea glass on a beach, or reflections in puddles. He opens gateways to helps us stay on the lookout for wonder, even in trying times. And he writes well about it. There’s beauty everywhere, is the title of a song by Pittsburgh musical group Devilish Merry. I think today’s Crews entry points to that beauty; in his examples, more merry than devilish.
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James Crews is one of my all time faves. Optimism and generosity seem to come naturally to him, but I also know they are the result of his daily practice.
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Thank you! A great job of putting that experience into words. While the essence of it is, I believe, in some ways beyond our words, I am nodding and smiling in agreement.
By coincidence, this morning your VP piece shares my screen with a NYT piece about various research studies that attempt to tease out our response (cognitive?/attention?/other?) to nature. In different ways acknowledging that something wonderful is happening.
Again, thanks for the reminder!
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Lovely! Thank you!
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