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  • Writer's pictureStacie Eirich

Essay on Spring

Updated: Nov 9, 2023

Photos taken at our visit to Dixon Gallery & Gardens in Memphis, TN, March 18, 2023

Essay on Spring

The softness of the day

settles over us, sun shaping spring

in sibilant sounds

newness awash

in the wind.

I listen to Ada Limón recite her poetry

and talk about our humanness, of how the trees

and the wind and the suburban thunder arise

to make us part of something bigger, something shocking

and normal and wise and crazy and beautiful.

I walk the circular sidewalk and begin to write in my head

as she speaks, begin to take all the hope and wonder and curiosity

of the city around me and winnow it into something

else, something that might make sense

to the wider world.

I watch the way a white plastic bag hangs

in the branches, carried by the same wind

that caresses my cheeks, carried by the same warmth

that brings buds to ripen and birds

to sing.

How is it we can live in a place

so sanctified yet so discarded, a space

that spills life

while we continue to leave refuse

behind us?

Ada speaks of recycling, yet her words eclipse this

into an expanse of humanity and our place within a world larger

than we could ever comprehend, a space filled

with so much grief and joy, so much roughness and softness —

a place where ‘the thesis is still

a river’ — and I am again lost in the trees, in the way they shiver

and sway, in the way my soul swallows the sun

whole in hope, in the way my fingers form language

in something that feels like peace, something that sounds like


Copyright @ Stacie Eirich March 21, 2023

Credit: ’the thesis is still a river,’ line from Ada Limón’s poem Where the Circles Overlap, Milkweed Editions.

*This poem is now included on my podcast, Poetry for Peace, Season 2, April 2023. Happy National Poetry Month! Link to the episode:


The poem above was inspired by listening to our 24th Poet Laureate of the United States, Ada Limón, speak with OnBeing’s Krista Tippett & recite the poem Where the Circles Overlap. It was a sunny day here in Memphis, a rarity in a season of gray rain — and I was walking the sidewalk inside the gate of The Ronald McDonald House, near the center of downtown.

It is a space where I see smoke and blue lights, litter blowing in the wind, buildings dark with age, windows cracked, paint peeling. But it is also a space of humanity, a space of beauty, and a space that makes you feel. Or maybe it just makes you think — and listen, and appreciate — the small things. Of course, those are really the big things, the things that makes us human and that we remember.

I’m grateful to you for being here, for reading and connecting with my creative work. Five month’s after my child Sadie’s cancer diagnosis, I consider it a miracle to be writing again. Of course, the larger miracle is Sadie’s amazing perseverance and creative, positive spirit through surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation treatments. It is because of Sadie that I picked up my pen and began creating again; it is for my child that most of my verses are now written.

May you find and follow the light this spring. We are holding hope close, finding joy in the place we are now.

In Verses, Art & Song,

Stacie & Sadie

*Post Script* My child is a patient at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. If you’d like to follow our journey to a cure, please send me a note with your email & visit:

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Mar 31, 2023

Beautiful. Trees shivering and the notion of the roughness and softness in all you are experiencing - you take us on your walk and I feel engaged, seeing what you are seeing and sensing what you are feeling.

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