"Even in the excruciating

the beautiful keeps breathing"

Welcome to Pocketful of Prose, a community for sharing stories. As always links are in bold, and there’s an audio of this post if that works better for your life.

In these last weeks of June, I have a small favor to ask you. If you like it here, if reading my pockets each week is like a strawberry picked in June or a piece of sourdough toast with just the right mix of salted butter and rhubarb jam, I ask you to please choose your favorite pocket and share it with a friend, right this minute while it’s fresh on your mind. You can also share pocketful of prose by clicking the link below.

If that all feels like too high-tech, maybe just talk it up to a friend this week, the old-fashioned way, or better yet, call that friend right now. I’m trying to grow my readership as I get closer to seeking publication of my memoir, but what I want to continue to grow, is more of what we already have, a community of gorgeous, tender-hearted people who seek beauty in the world. Thank you for being here.

Today, it brings me great joy to highlight the work of one of those beautiful and talented people, Claire Coenen, whose first book of poems The Beautiful Keeps Breathing is available now. You can purchase Claire’s book here, or you can ask your local library or bookstore to get a copy of Claire’s book, like I did.

Photo credit: Donna Murphy

Claire’s beautiful book came out on the solstice, and this feels fitting, as each poem is an invitation to see the light, to notice beauty and wonder, to revel in the gift of being alive. Claire’s collection of poems makes me think of Ross Gay, author of The Book of Delights, and a conversation that he had with Krista Tippett, “On the Insistence of Joy,” that was recently re-aired. Krista speaks of how someone at a gathering of philanthropists and leaders asked, “How can we possibly be joyful in a moment like this?” I feel like Ross’ work, Claire’s work, the work of Sara Bessey, whose writing I’m currently reading, and I hope my work, answer this question “How can we possibly be joyful in a moment like this?” by asking, how can we possibly not? Insisting on joy is not a denial of death, it is a leaning into the tenderness and beauty of life, which only becomes more tender and beautiful with a deep awareness of the ephemeral.

As Sarah Bessey points out in Field Notes for the Wilderness, praise and lamentation are meant to sit side by side. Claire’s poetry is steeped in grief and loss. In the center of her book is a poem titled “Perennial,” which is in memory of Eve Marie Carson, who was the UNC student body president and Claire’s dear friend, who was senselessly murdered in 2008.

Perennial

I bloom with Eve

at the coffee shop

as she defines

existence

in 11 syllables,

her voice climbing

like wild rose vines:

Life is

excruciatingly

beautiful.

As adverb pierces

wings of adjective,

my empath skin

sprouts stems

with thorns,

blushing buds

adorn my chest.

Eve is 22

with ephemeral

lips, perennial

words, and Eden

eyes that see me.

I had the pleasure of speaking with Claire about her writing this past Spring. We connected over Zoom. I was in my work office, she in her home office, where I could see Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way on her shelf, next to a National Parks calendar, and a painting of her old dog Clyde, that her mom made. Claire said she wants her poems “to provide a container and a mirror that is able to remind anyone who is suffering that they are not the only person suffering. It’s not the end of the story.”

This is what she offers us in her poem, “A Note for You in the Wilderness.”

A Note for You in the Wilderness

I promise this forest will not entangle you forever.

Like sunrays trickling through the branches,

illumination will arrive. The painful terrain will soften

beneath your feet as your soul learns the secrets

of suffering and love. Lanterns and cairns will emerge

on the trail, and voices of other travelers will

break open the void. In time, your vision will refine

to see piles of mud and moss as the homes

of fairies, who cherish your choice in risking laughter.

With intuition, you will sense the dandelions

delighting in your wishes and the magnolias billowing

wisdom in the blossom-air you breathe.

Until you inhale this peace, trust that no human is evergreen.

The little deaths, the traps, the broken hopes

in these woods force you to the soul-depths most choose

to avoid. Yet, in the deep and dark, the angels

will keep you, attend to your wounds, and teach you to root,

to reach, and to shine your only-you fragrance.

Claire says that “a lot of this book (was) borrowing words from other people, the people in my life who have been loving, healing presences.” I asked her if she had a favorite poet, and she told me she has “poetry guardian angels” and then shared that they are “Mary Oliver, John O’Donohue, and Maya Angelou.” Claire said that O’Donohue’s work on beauty informed her own work. Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou both appear as lamplighters in separate poems in Claire’s book.

I asked Claire how she’s feeling now that her book is leaving the nest. I sometimes struggle with worrying about whether my writing has enough reach, and I wonder if she does too. Claire is wise in her response to my question, “I wrote the book for myself,” she said. I needed to tell (this story) for myself…It’s been life-giving…meaningful to share with friends. If one person feels less alone, then it’s a win.”

It's a win, Claire. Congratulations to you on your beautiful book, and the reminder that “even in the excruciating, the beautiful keeps breathing.”

I would love to continue this conversation in the comments. Feel free to pose a question for Claire or me or tell us who your poetry guardian angels are.