Thursday, May 12, 2022



Words are my currency. Spending them
is my satisfaction - this stringing of thoughts,
of phrases, trying to find the ones that create
a moment of connection - with you, and with
whoever might pick up my poems after I am gone:
to find me, come this way.

My work is to explain my heart,
even though I cannot explain my heart.

My mother said, "You should be writing
these stories down. You're the writer."
I should have listened. Memory is
selective, and fallible.

My work is to capture the moment
when the sun comes up behind the hills
at  South Chesterman's. My work is to
love the creatures passing through,
knowing I will have to, at some point,
let them go.

My work is to share the joy and grief 
of being alive, to express my gratitude
to the All That Is for my sojourn here -
the heartaches, the heartlifts.
Thank you. Thank you for it all.

Inspired by An Address to My Fellow Faculty Who Have Asked Me to Speak About My Work, by Papatya Bucak. The italicized lines are hers.


  1. I really like this one a lot too, Sherry. You do a wonderful job of explaining your heart; and I do hope that your words will live on and people will hear your heartbeat. You do capture so much in your words - the good and the bad. Your mother was wise. In your own poetic way you ARE writing your stories down!

  2. This is beautiful... I think everyone who has read your poems has enjoyed them and taken away at some level, the message of your love for earth and everything on it. Thank you for writing them and sharing them with us!

  3. "My work is to explain my heart" and I think you do an excellent job through your poetic voice. You speak from the heart and that is felt by all who read your verses.

  4. Speaking for most of us in cyberspace...


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