My Mary Oliver Poems #1 - "Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard"

    As Oliver watches, listens for, and reflects on the little owl who lives in the orchard, she speaks with great reverence about the “dear, dark dapple of plush” and goes into great detail about how he lives and how he makes her feel. As I read through the poem, I was struck by the level of detail she uses in telling us about the owl and the orchard – about the black-smocked crickets and dragonflies, the little aluminum ladder of the owl’s scream, the flurry of palpitations as cold as sleet that racketed across the marshlands of her heart.

    One of my favorite lines of the poem places the little owl among the divine: “Somewhere in the universe, in the gallery of important things, the babyish owl, ruffled and rakish, sits on its pedestal.” Staring out at the world with his big yellow eyes full of wisdom and mystery, spreading his powerful wings like two black ferns, the little owl just might know something that we don't. Another line that held my attention was: “It’s not size but surge that tells us when we’re in touch with something real.” This line reminded me of the small, quiet moments that might seem insignificant in passing, that might slip by without us noticing – the butterfly floating outside my window, the feeling of grass under bare feet, the owl making his home outside my bedroom window.