"I grew up aware of two ways of
looking at the world that are opposed to each other and yet can exist side by
side in the same person. One is the scientific view. The other is the magic
view." – Nancy Willard
Born in Ann Arbor, MI in June of
1936, Willard was a much-honored author of many of volumes of poetry and the first to win the Newbery Prize (recognizing the best in
children’s literature) for a book of poetry for children. She also wrote novels, short stories and
literary criticism for adults. For Saturday’s Poem, here is
Willard’s,
The Vanity of the Dragonfly
The
dragonfly at rest on the doorbell—
too
weak to ring and glad of it,
but
well mannered and cautious,
thinking
it best to observe us quietly
before
flying in, and who knows if he will find
the
way out? Cautious of traps, this one.
A
winged cross, plain, the body straight
as
a thermometer, the old glass kind
that
could kill us with mercury if our teeth
did
not respect its brittle body. Slim as an eel
but
a solitary glider, a pilot without bombs
or
weapons, and wings clear and small as a wish
to
see over our heads, to see the whole picture.
And
when our gaze grazes over it and moves on,
the
dragonfly changes its clothes,
sheds
its old skin, shriveled like laundry,
and
steps forth, polished black, with two
circles
buttoned like epaulettes taking the last space
at
the edge of its eyes.
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