There’s something about December that’s both joyful and depressing.
It’s the season of joy, of course. Holiday cheer. Festivities. Presents. Twinkling lights. But it’s also the final month of the year, a summing-up month. For most of us, the year behind us has been both good and not-so-good. And some of that not-so-good was, and is, depressing.
Not long ago, I was introduced to a poem that has been on my mind a great deal. It evokes the season for me—and my current mindset as well. Here it is.
THE FIRST LESSON
by Deborah Pope***
The Angel knocked
and when I opened
the door to it
I lost the Angel
at my table.
Wind poured in
through the crack
slapped my cheek
a voice cried you cannot have
The Angel in the doorway said
let me in
you are alone.
The wonderful thing about a poem is that it is open—open to interpretation, to speculation, to the most personal associations. Once the poet has sent his or her lines out into the world, we are free to infuse them with a meaning that only we can know—a significance that only we can fully understand and appreciate.
For me, the message of this poem is very personal. I’ve had a good year. My novel, One Who Loves, is published, and the print edition is coming out soon. My family is in good health and spirits as, for the most part, am I. I have small means but big plans—and I’ve managed to convince myself that this might be better than the reverse. So I count myself among the fortunate.
On the other hand, I’ve had my disappointments, including, but not limited to, the recent election. Even though the wind of change “slapped my cheek,” I’m not without hope. Something—some lingering innocence from the last century—has gone out of our lives, but I’m hoping that goodness prevails.
“The First Lesson” is about hope—and loss. What is the Angel at the table taking away? What have I given up in order to admit what is new and unknown, good and not-so-good?
Perhaps one of the lessons I’m still learning is that moving ahead—opening the door to new possibilities, new challenges—is inevitably transformative. The Angel with whom I sit comfortably at the table must move out the moment I open the door to whatever is out there, knocking for admittance, because I “cannot have/two Angels.” The Angel at the door may be a harbinger of good or a messenger for the not-so-good, but my inclination is to open the door, to go forward.
Happy Holidays to you, and best wishes for all that is good in the New Year.
***from Falling Out of the Sky (Louisiana State University Press), nominated for the 1999 Pulitzer Prize. Deborah Pope is the author of two other poetry collections, Fanatic Heart and Mortal World. She is on the faculty at Duke University. Reprinted with permission.