The Armful by Robert Frost

For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I lose some other off my arms and knees,
And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns,
Extremes too hard to comprehend at once.
Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
With all I have to hold with hand and mind
And heart, if need be, I will do my best.
To keep their building balanced at my breast.
I crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
Then sit down in the middle of them all.
I had to drop the armful in the road
And try to stack them in a better load.

I chose this poem this morning because my own arms are full and have been full for the past week.

Here are the lines that strike me especially:

Extremes too hard to comprehend at once.
Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.

That seems to me to be one of the tasks of writing—as well as healing—to acknowledge the truth of something, including the extremes of that something, without giving in to the temptation to oversimplify.

And I love the image he leaves there at the end–sitting down in the middle of it all.  Dropping it all in the road.  And then stacking it again—whatever it is—-stacking it again in a new way——–and perhaps giving oneself plenty of time and space in which to do so.

Letting everything fall out on the ground—and then re-stacking it.

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