· Marge Piercy's poem, “To Be Of Use” – Considering work
A woodpecker works to find breakfast in a tree before me. Beside the river, sandbars and a shallow remnant lie alongside each other. Sparrows fall like leaves. The air is silent. “The thing worth doing well done” – preparing food, loving a child, choosing a word, painting what is felt more than seen, listening – is beautiful and true and necessary. Her parting line – “the pitcher cries for water to carry and the person for work that is real” – speaks to me in a strong, clear voice of necessity, of exasperation at the premise of a wasted life, at the ways in which our culture advocates medication because disappointment is the assumed human norm. When we have work to do, however, we can heal. We find purpose. The tiny head taps in rapid succession, cheeping staccato words to another close by. The work is what it is – necessary for life, without lament or evasion. He is wondrous fair – bright red head, black and white horizontally striped body, bright light through a blind. He taps, chirps, taps, chirps. Work. Not workaholism, but work as legitimate and fulfilling. Work as nourishing and necessary. Work as cleansing and instructive. My longing – our longing – for legitimate work is driven by a desire to create, to ease, to mend, to tend, to care for, to leave a mark.
