A few years ago, I discovered the poet Sharon Olds. I read a poem called The Race, which is a description of her heart-stoppingly suspenseful dash through an airport to catch a flight (across two terminals in seven minutes) to get to her dying father’s bedside. It is an incredible piece of work and I have read it over and over again, each time more awed by her accomplishment. Now, for my birthday, my friend Martha gave me a whole book of her poetry. I read half of it on my flight just now from Boston to Chicago and each one is better than the last. Here’s an excerpt from one about her daughter which I think she mind-read from me: it says exactly what I feel:

There are creatures whose children float away
at birth, and those who throat-feed their young for
weeks and never see them again. My daughter
is free and she is in me – no my love
of her is in me, moving in my heart
changing chambers, like something poured
from hand to hand, to be weighed and then reweighed.

It takes my breath away.

Please do yourself a favor and get this woman’s poetry.