First Lesson by Phillip Booth

Wow, what a day.

I searched for this poem for forty years. Inquiries to poetry libraries, and to the estates of two poets I falsely remembered as possible authors, and to various generations of chatbots all yielded nothing. But now I have it.

I read it in 1983, at age 21, in The Sun magazine, and never lost the imagery and feeling of it. I can do this. In fact, I could as a child. But this was the first time I saw someone describe it. And there's great joy from finding an expression of what you'd found inexpressible.

Of course, it's not 1983. And you're not me. So this may not hit for you. But bear in mind that I'm not offering this as a fantastically great poem. Rather, it's an essential framing device. Which makes it, paradoxically, a fantastically great poem.

First Lesson

by Phillip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head

be tipped back in the cup of my hand.

Gently, and I will hold you. Spread

your arms wide, lie out on the stream

and look high at the gulls. A dead-

man’s float is face down. You will dive

and swim soon enough where this tidewater

ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe

me, when you tire on the long thrash

to your island, lie up, and survive.

As you float now, where I held you

and let go, remember when fear

cramps your heart what I told you:

lie gently and wide to the light-year

stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

Echos in my life and in my writing:

The Tree
The Toddler and The Steering Wheel
Blogger as Blob
A Surprisingly Uplifting Examination of Suicide