have i talked about ellen bass?

i think i have. i think i once posted her poem, Gate C22, about the smooch exchanged between less than perfect people that everyone in the terminal watched wistfully, wishing for once they were the overweight under styled woman being so tenderly kissed.

i should have noticed then that the poet had a special eye but somehow -blame it on this "job" that keeps making me "work" while in the "office"- i didnt investigate her further. well now i have taken a second, third, fourth, unquenchably thirsty swig of her light clean crispy and deeply satisfying work. i suggest you do to, she is a new favorite.

here is one that might be the closest a poem has ever come to encapsulating the maternal instinct, rivalling one by sharon olds that i can think of...

After Our Daughter's Wedding

While the remnants of cake
and half-empty champagne glasses
lay on the lawn like sunbathers lingering
in the slanting light, we left the house guests
and drove to Antonelli's pond.
On a log by the bank I sat in my flowered dress and cried.
A lone fisherman drifted by, casting his ribbon of light.
"Do you feel like you've given her away?" you asked.
But no, it was that she made it
to here, that she didn't
drown in a well or die
of pneumonia or take the pills.
She wasn't crushed
under the mammoth wheels of a semi
on highway 17, wasn't found
lying in the alley
that night after rehearsal
when I got the time wrong.
It's animal. The egg
not eaten by a weasel. Turtles
crossing the beach, exposed
in the moonlight. And we
have so few to start with.
And that long gestation—
like carrying your soul out in front of you.
All those years of feeding
and watching. The vulnerable hollow
at the back of the neck. Never knowing
what could pick them off—a seagull
swooping down for a clam.
Our most basic imperative:
for them to survive.
And there's never been a moment
we could count on it.

-Ellen Bass

Read more here. please.