The letter came in the mail

. It was postmarked Cambridge and I recognized the return address. It was months ago I had sent in my poetry to the Cambridge writers collective for blind judging.

I had been writing poetry since I was a kid in high school but never before did I have the nerve to put my work out there for scrutiny.

It felt as if I were giving away my firstborn.

“Am I being presumptuous?” I thought . How could I compete with the likes of writers like David who encouraged me to submit?

I bet it’s a rejection letter.

They say you often have to expect hundreds of rejections before your work is accepted for publication. You need a thick skin.

There is a great deal of subjectivity that goes into decisions about the merit of a piece of writing. I know this. In our book club, we read books that some of our members raved over while others wondered why.

Certainly I invested a lot of energy and angst into the decision to send in my poems but finally, I swallowed my anxiety, followed the instructions for submission and waited.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. As I picked the letter out of the mailbox I could not open it there and then. I would go home, sit down with a glass of some fortification, which in my case was nothing more than an ice tea, and only then would I dare open the letter.

There I was in my easy chair. My husband was in his office next door. I had not told him about the mail yet. Holding my breath, I tore open the envelope and let out a whoop.

My dear man came in alarmed. “What happened?” He asked.

“I WON THIRD PRIZE!”

The following was my first prize-winning poem:

CONTEMPLATIO

A bee came in while the men were

replacing the window

in the kitchen.

It could be a wasp.

I don’t know.

Oblivious to my musings,

it’s now feasting,

on the red velvet

of the Hibiscus flowers.

There are three out today.

The tree, always indoors has never

met a bee before.

Yet this insect knows it

intimately.

It makes me wonder, in my busy life,

if I take wing and explore

inside,

will I discover or recognize

and maybe, just maybe let myself savour

its unexpected sweetness

with no thought to

scrutiny?

Since that time I have not hesitated to give away any of my subsequent “babies”.

© Márta O’Reilly

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