Song of Myself
by Ronald Wallace after Issa I think it’s enough just to sit and meditate, heedless of the needs of others close to us and of their perpetual demands that seem to sap the strength from us. My doorway and the morning dew are all I need to make my day, and that is where I’ll plan to be. And if that marks me misanthropic, if that threatens to end our relationship, I say that is not my problem, closing my door. Thoreau knew how to spend the day alone with his peas and beans and ledgers, and we can do the same. So much for the ties that bind. “We must find our occasions in ourselves,” said self-reliant Thoreau. And so I’m going to sing to myself. And the birds. And you. And one or two others. From For Dear Life, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015. Note that the last words of each line of each poem, read vertically from top to bottom, form a haiku by Issa. See also “Bellwether.” |