To Be Of Use

— by Marge Piercy

The people I love the best

jump into work head first

without dallying in the shallows

and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.

They seem to become natives of that element,

the black sleek heads of seals

bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,

who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,

who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,

who do what has to be done, again and again. 

I want to be with people who submerge

in the task, who go into the fields to harvest

and work in a row and pass the bags along,

who are not parlor generals and field deserters

but move in a common rhythm

when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.

Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.

But the thing worth doing well done

has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. 

Greek amphoras for wine or oil,

Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums

but you know they were made to be used. 

The pitcher cries for water to carry

and a person for work that is real.

I know Marge Piercy more for her novels, which I love (Gone To Soldiers, Fly Away Home, Vida, Woman on Edge of Time) but she’s a brilliant poet too, and I love this poem for today. 

The newness of the novel coronavirus is behind us, but the havoc it’s wreaking on us emotionally (and otherwise, but I’ll leave that to the economists) is very much now and in the future. Here in Florida, our governor just cancelled public schools for the rest of the year. 

S#$% is real, ya’ll. We’re all coming to terms in our own way with this much longer and challenging road. And now in addition to the virus danger, we’re also in danger of the impact of fatigue, frustration, boredom, apathy, and cynicism.

We’re in what group therapists call the working phase, the long middle. It’s the slog. (You know how you tend to talk more to your seat partner at the beginning of a flight, and at the end of a flight, but during the middle it feels awkward to chat? That’s the uncomfortable middle). Plane rides aside, it’s where most of the important work happens in relationships, in work projects, and in life in general.

And when people engage, important transformation happens.

Science tells us that helping — helping others, helping a cause — helps our own mental health the most.

This poem reminds me of that. It reminds me that the best way around something is through. Diving right in. Joining with others. Common purpose.

We’re not going through this alone, and we won’t get to the other side of this alone. More than ever, we see how connected we all are. 

We humans are hardwired for connection. We’re born wanting to be involved with the world. Find a way to jump in and help others. You’ll help yourself get through this time more than you know. 

Be well, wash your hands — and stay connected!

Lisa