so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

William Carlos Williams’ famous poem “The Red Wheelbarrow” is short, fragmented, and incomplete. Yet in this imperfect prose this poem finds its full power, its perfection as a poem.

This evocative poem made out of broken, ordinary prose has no beginning and no ending.
It is a slice in time, caught out of the corner of one’s eye. Yet the world is different after the sighting.

In my hurried, fragmented, imperfect day, The Red Wheelbarrow calls out.
It reminds me that my messy to-do list might be hiding a glimpse of the sublime.
Maybe it’s a sign of the Divine presence keeping me company during the day.

Today, instead of the wheelbarrow, God’s presence will show in a resident’s grateful smile.
Today, instead of chickens, it will be a fleeting moment spent with my hand resting on someone else’s.

Every moment of my day contains the possibility of poetry, usually when I least expect it.

John Terauds, CPE Intern