Mary Oliver broke my heart
The poet helped me to realize how little I knew about a life observed.
I don’t remember when I first read her work. I’m sure it was in my 20s. Because in my 20s I knew too much. Everything, actually. And if you doubt that, just ask my 27-year-old self. I would smile and demure and shy away from your question, but secretly answer in the affirmative.
And then enter Mary.
Mary, the poet. Mary, the theologian…though unwittingly, perhaps. Mary, with her short stacked sentences packed on top of one another like pancakes, dripping with meaning.
