The Way Everything in the World Is Waiting

A reading of William Stafford's "A Message from the Wanderer"

Prisoners, listen;

A Message from the Wanderer | The Poetry Foundation

It’s been a while since I sat down to read you a poem.

School starts mid-August and for nearly a month, everything is upside down. Can’t live like that, though; things must regulate. They will regulate, but often unpredictably, in their own time: “remember: there will come a time when / all we have said and all we have hoped / will be all right,” Stafford’s Wanderer says.

Some readers think Stafford’s poetry, like Mary Oliver’s, is too on-the-nose. But sometimes this is exactly what I need. Tell it to me lyrically, but tell it to me straight. Lord, I can’t even remember my own name these days. Remind me. Show me where I’m imprisoned and don’t even know it. Help me see that form in the grass.

My favorite part of this poem? The manner in which the good news comes—not with eye-rolling condescension (You idiots! Don’t you know you have the keys in your pockets?!), but as to children: “Tell the little ones / to cry and then go to sleep, curled up / where they can.” We’re all doing the best we can. “And if any of us get lost, / if any of us cannot come all the way—” then tenderly, let’s lead each other. Press the keys we need into each other’s palms with a gentle jubilation that says, You forgot again. That’s okay. I’ll forget tomorrow.

That’s the message from the Wanderer.

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