"This is Just to Say" by William Carlos Williams

On poetry and the people we love

It’s close to 11am on any given Saturday in the 00’s, and I’m finally hungry enough to drag my teenage body out of bed. I stretch and yawn as I cross my room and head down the stairs in my parents’ house, listening for signs of life.

The house is really, really quiet. Did they go somewhere without me? I wonder as my heavy footfalls bring me closer to the second floor.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner toward the kitchen, I remember that my dad and sister are away at a softball tournament. They must have left early.

“Mom?” I ask as I step into the kitchen, expecting to find her sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle. Instead, there’s a slip of paper on the counter:

Good morning! (Afternoon?)

Out for a walk – back around 11:15. If you think of it, can you switch the laundry?

MWAH! Mom

Growing up before text messages, leaving notes on the kitchen counter was the best way for our family to share information with each other – where we were going, when we would be back, who called while you were out, and of course, that you were loved. It was—and continues to be—one of my favorite “accidental” family traditions.

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Around the same time, my American Literature teacher introduced our class to William Carlos Williams. His poem about the red wheelbarrow still mystifies me,¹ but “This is Just to Say,” stole my heart immediately:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Here was a kitchen-counter style note canonized in the pages of The American Tradition in Literature. I suddenly found myself wondering: Could everything be a poem?

With new eyes, I looked at the notes scrawled in my teacher’s handwriting on the whiteboard. With new ears, I listened to the chatter of other students passing me in the hallway.

Could everything be a poem?

Recently, I’ve been thinking of poetry like a photograph of emotion: a small snapshot of how the author felt at a certain moment in time. It’s so easy to take a photo these days—just tap a button. Likewise, it can seem easy to write a poem—just throw a few words on the page.

But it’s also so much more than that.

In poetry and in photography there are rules: meter and line breaks, light and aperture. Those rules help the artist to create something that is recognizable as a poem or a photograph. They also help us judge whether that poem or photograph is “good” or “bad.”

You’ve probably seen a bad photograph of yourself or another subject: it’s too blurry or the angle is all wrong. But you’ve probably seen a good photograph, too: how the child’s expression perfectly captures their personality, how the sunrise on the monument perfectly captures the way you felt in that city.

A photo that is blurry or off-center can be good, so long as it captures emotion or conveys meaning. The same goes for poetry.  

Sonnets are gorgeous but so, so hard to write. Epic poems are entertaining and illuminative but so, so long. These forms of poetry are absolutely worth reading. As writers and readers, they can challenge us to perceive the world in new ways.

A little poem scribbled on a scrap of paper can do the same thing. It can help us to capture and process the emotions we feel as we go about our lives. It can help us to see beauty in our ordinary days. And when we share that work with others, it can spark or strengthen a connection: I’ve never thought about it like that before. I’ve felt that, too.  

“This is Just to Say” does this so well. The poem is short and sweet, but it is grounded in emotion and relationship. The speaker is reaching out to share an experience of wonder: the plums are delicious, sweet, and cold. But more than that, the speaker is writing to apologize. There has been a transgression and the speaker desires forgiveness. Even though the plums were both tempting and delightful, the speaker’s relationship is ultimately more important—and he or she is willing to communicate about the wrongdoing to maintain that connection with another.

Apologies are hard. Like writing poetry and making art, they require vulnerability that is often uncomfortable or even painful. But an apology voiced, like a poem or photograph shared, is a bid for connection, a means of communication, and a way to strengthen and solidify the relationships that make life worth living. You might face rejection, yes. But what if you are forgiven or accepted, seen, known, or loved?

Even though we now have a robust family cell phone plan with unlimited texting, I still see scraps of paper around my parents’ house whenever I visit. Each note brings me a little jolt of nostalgia and joy, remembering the many notes I left and received over the years I lived there.

That’s because the notes were never really about the information. They were about the bonds we share and a desire to maintain and grow them. And that is holy, sacred work indeed.

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If you liked this essay, would you forward it to a friend? Thanks for your kindness!

What I’ve been reading and writing lately:

• Want more poetry? I think SK Mooney does an amazing job of curating poetry that is both accessible and impactful. Follow her on Instagram and sign up for her Advent/Lent email series when the time comes!

• I know I’m *extremely* late to this party, but you guys: ANTHONY DOERR. After people telling me to read it for years, I’m finally savoring All the Light We Cannot See this summer. It’s as good as everyone says it is.

Coming up…

Next time I’ll be writing about finding God in my favorite Olympic sport. I can’t wait to watch it in 2026!

1. Interpretations welcome (yours or otherwise!) in the comments! Please, enlighten me!