What’s the point, now,
of crying, when you’ve cried
already, he said, as if he’d
never thought, or been told—
and perhaps he hadn’t—
Write down something
that doesn’t have to matter,
that still matters,
to you. Though I didn’t
know it then, those indeed
were the days. Random
corners, around one of which,
on that particular day,
a colony of bees, bound
by instinct, swarmed low
to the ground, so as
not to abandon the wounded
queen, trying to rise,
not rising, from the strip of
dirt where nothing had
ever thrived, really, except
in clumps the grass here
and there that we used to call
cowboy grass, I guess for its
toughness: stubborn,
almost, steadfast, though that’s
a word I learned early, each
time the hard way, not to use
too easily.
by Carl Phillips, Retrieved from The Atlantic at this link on October 10, 2025
Invitation: “I learned early…”
Carl Phillips is a professor of English at Washington University in St. Louis. You can find other books by Carl Phillips at these links: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/carl-phillips and https://www.carlphillipspoet.com/scattered-snows-to-the-north
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Write down something
that doesn’t have to matter,
that still matters,
to you. ~ Carl Phillips.
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I am contemplating this idea of "something that doesn't have to matter, that still matters, to you" from Carl Phillips. Something that still matters to me. I am thinking about parts of my identity, my growing up... lessons learned along the way -- that still matters to me. Thank you Pat and Jean for this poem and reflection.