So my sister's a semi-finalist in the Oprah Poetry Contest. Now that I remember about her song writing, I'm not surprised.
But why did she stop writing?
I remember the last time I was visiting her in California, I suggested that when the guys get out their guitars and start singing, she should sing that Jack and Jerry song. I just love that song. I said.
No you don't, Margaret. You hate it. You told me you hated it, she said with some emotion.
I was taken aback. Well, yes, I had to admit, there was something about me in it that upset me.
What she had put in the song was true, but only due to circumstances beyond my control. And it made me look bad and that upset me.
But over time, I realized that's just how it was. And the more I thought about that song, the more I liked it. What I could remember of it, anyway.
I hurt you with that song, and I would never ever deliberately do that, she went on. So I stopped singing it. I stopped thinking about it. I don't even remember the words, she said.
And then I realized that was the last song she ever wrote. And suddenly I knew the power of our words--the power to touch and change people's lives, to create results we are sometimes unaware of, and the care and responsibility that brings with it.
I'm glad my sister's a semi-finalist on the Oprah Poetry Contest. I hope she makes it all the way to sitting next to Oprah in a comfy armchair. Because she cares about what she writes, and how it affects the lives of others. And that, my friends, makes for powerful poetry.
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