I’ve been reading Malena Mörling’s Astoria. My favorite poem so far is “Simply Lit.” I’m going to let you read it first and then tell you why I love it.

Simply Lit

Often toward evening,
after another day, after
another year of days,
in the half dark on the way home
I stop at the food store
and waiting in line I begin
to wonder about people—I wonder
if they also wonder about how
strange it is that we
are here on the earth.
And how in order to live
we all must sleep.
And how we have beds for this
(unless we are without)
and entire rooms where we go
at the end of the day to collapse.
And I think how even the most
lively people are desolate
when they are alone
because they too must sleep
and sooner or later die.
We are always looking to acquire
more food for more great meals.
We have to have great meals.
Isn’t it enough to be a person buying
a carton of milk? A simple
package of butter and a loaf
of whole wheat bread?
Isn’t it enough to stand here
while the sweet middle-aged cashier
rings up the purchases?
I look outside,
but I can’t see much out there
because now it is dark except
for a single vermilion neon sign
floating above the gas station
like a miniature temple simply lit
against the night.

from Astoria, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2006

This poem appears simple on the surface. The speaker stops to get groceries on the way home in the “half dark.” It’s a poem of wondering, organized by the engine of the tiny conjunction “and”: “and waiting in line I begin / to wonder about people —.” This poem moves me along so steadily it feels trance-like, which comes from the flow of the speaker’s thoughts and the subtle sounds. But the part that makes me stop is: “And I think how even the most / lively people are desolate / when they are alone / because they too must sleep / and sooner or later die. / We are always looking to acquire / more food for more great meals. / We have to have great meals. / Isn’t it enough to be a person buying / a carton of milk?” Mörling gives us the human condition with her questioning voice (“Isn’t it enough?”), wry humor, and spare, sonic pleasures. Long after reading, I remember the “single vermilion neon sign / floating above the gas station / like a miniature temple simply lit.” The transcendant in the ordinary. I can’t stand in a grocery line without thinking about this poem. To me, that’s the mark of a great poem. It persists — it won’t leave you alone.