How do you know when a poem is finished?
Whenever I think about this, I’m reminded of a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye: “How Do I Know When a Poem Is Finished?” She talks about a poem as a room in a house, where you have to close the door for awhile and walk away, leaving it alone to settle in and get comfortable with itself. And when you go back to the room, you might move a few things around, rearrange some furniture. That’s what writing poetry feels like, for me. I could keep re-stacking the books and fluffing the pillows indefinitely. I might ask a friend whether the lamp looks better here or there. But at some point, you do get a sense that the room looks pretty good the way it is and you can live in it fairly comfortably.
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