New

A poem from my book, Continue: Poems and Prayers of Hope

Hello!

Today’s poem, New, is from my book, Continue: Poems and Prayers of Hope.

Back in 2020, six months into the pandemic, I wrote this piece. Like so many others, my life was flipped upside down and inside out. Every speaking event I had lined up was canceled. My bank account began to dwindle. I couldn’t figure out the labyrinth of PPP loans (remember those?). Sleep eluded me, my diet fell apart, and any semblance of a routine crumbled. I couldn’t shake the thought: Had I made a huge mistake becoming a writer and poet?

But we had a puppy.

Please note, I was tempted to use about 30 exclamation points after that sentence, but this is Substack, not AOL Instant Messenger. #selfcontrol

We brought Pancake home on March 14, 2020 - the day the Pandemic offically started in Nashville. Dogs make everything better, especially global pandemics. Pancake made the heaviest season of our lives lighter. Day after day, he got us out of bed, out of the house, and away from our screens. He brought joy when joy felt far away. He comforted us through unexplained infertility and the fear that came with my dad’s two massive heart attacks.

One crisp October morning, I took Pancake on a walk outside of our house. I let my mind wander and drift as Pancake stopped to sniff. For one reason - or maybe a thousand - that morning I couldn’t help but feel thankful. Maybe it was the light waking up the morning. Maybe it was the rush I got from the cool air. Maybe it was the fact that after all these years I was finally a dog dad.

Sure, life was uncertain, but in that moment, I knew something for sure: I was seen. I was known. Not forgotten or abandoned, but loved and invited by God.

With Pancake’s leash in one hand and my phone in the other, I began writing what would eventually become this poem. That was another thing Pancake gave me: words. He helped me uncover them when they seemed buried beneath the weight of the world. He woke something inside of me, shining a light on what I had been struggling to find.

I tucked my phone away, and we continued our walk up the street. I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog the cool morning air. When I was a boy growing up in Florida, I used to call this “seeing my words.” I’d lift my chin, blow into the air, and watch my words make their way through the heavy air. It felt like magic.

Maybe writing poetry is a bit like that—breathing into the cold air, seeing your words come to life, creating a kind of magic for the world to witness.

I don’t know.

All I knew in that moment was that I was alive.
I was seen.
I was known.
I was loved.
And we had a puppy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With Hope,

Tanner

New

I walked up the street toward the rising sun.

Again I couldn’t sleep.

My mind was moving and I decided my feet should as well.

Light slowly pushed the dark aside as I climbed the hill outside our home.

Shadows followed as the late fall breeze rolled toward me.

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets and pressed on.

I inhaled, closing my eyes for one step, two.

Cool air scratched down my lungs.

I watched my breath escape before now-open eyes.

I thanked God,

the start of my morning prayer.

I felt known.

I felt new.

An invitation to begin again.

---

New can be found in my book, Continue: Poems and Prayers of Hope.

Website | 📚 Books | On Instagram | On Facebook | ⭐️ Online store

---

Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts.

For more poetry and stories follow me on Instagram and Facebook.