Poem Discussion of the Week - Self Compassion by James Crews

Hello! It's been a while since I posted a discussion but this appeared in my inbox today (for those of you who don't know, poets.org have a 'poem a day' which they send right to your inbox!) and it really struck me and I want to talk about it!

Self Compassion

by James Crews

My friend and I snickered the first time

we heard the meditation teacher, a grown man,

call himself honey, with a hand placed

over his heart to illustrate how we too

might become more gentle with ourselves

and our runaway minds. It’s been years

since we sat with legs twisted on cushions,

holding back our laughter, but today

I found myself crouched on the floor again,

not meditating exactly, just agreeing

to be still, saying honey to myself each time

I thought about my husband splayed

on the couch with aching joints and fever

from a tick bite—what if he never gets better?—

or considered the threat of more wildfires,

the possible collapse of the Gulf Stream,

then remembered that in a few more minutes,

I’d have to climb down to the cellar and empty

the bucket I placed beneath a leaky pipe

that can’t be fixed until next week. How long

do any of us really have before the body

begins to break down and empty its mysteries

into the air? Oh honey, I said—for once

without a trace of irony or blush of shame—

the touch of my own hand on my chest

like that of a stranger, oddly comforting

in spite of the facts.

I like so many things about this poem. I love the fact that the poem opens with a funny anecdote describing the author's first experience with meditation. If I'm honest, I am one of those people that approaches meditation with scepticism.

I love the movement of story throughout the poem and the prose-like and stream of consciousness nature of the poem emphasises the store vibe.

I love that the poem centres on being compassionate with yourself. This isn't self care. This isn't wearing a face mask (which is my go to self care activity). This is actually showing yourself compassion.

I love the intense few lines towards the last third of the poem:

I thought about my husband splayed

on the couch with aching joints and fever

from a tick bite—what if he never gets better?—

or considered the threat of more wildfires,

the possible collapse of the Gulf Stream,

These kinds of lines often pop up in poems where the author questions the 'point of it all' and I love its placement within the scope of this poem.

What are your thoughts?