Sometimes people ask me why I write poetry. Although I often get "paid" for a poem, the amount is usually so negligible that it is barely worth a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Then, something like this happens..... Earlier this year, I wrote a poem called "The Peace Rose". I wrote it for a contest - the contest objective was to write a poem on a historical theme. Meanwhile I posted it to one of my poetry lists. I didn't win that contest, but then recently I entered it in another (The Florida State Poetry Association's Annual contest in the cinquain sequence category) where I won 3rd place and $10. This is itself is nice, but not a reason for writing poetry. But then, today I received an e-mail from a woman in the UK that I've never met, a woman who was originally born in France. Here is the excerpt from her e-mail that touched me: "and whilst i'm talking to you, something i've wanted to share with you for a very long time. Quite a while ago, months!, you'd written something about the Peace Rose. I did not comment at the time as i seldom do, but had done research and found out they originated in a town not so far to where i was born, well what's a hundred miles!!! The name of that town held magic for me when i was a child as some distant relatives lived there though i've never been there: Tassin la demi-lune, which translated is more or less Tassin the half-moon.... bearing in mind it sounds obviously to me much nicer in my native tongue. I'm just back from that trip 'home' to see my ailing father... i did revisit the cemetary on the morning of the All Saints... such a bright sight with so much chrysanthemums on all tombs... a lot of them gold! a festival i've not taken part in since an adolescent. Monday i went early before visitors gathered there... a solitary celebration nonetheless. But more over, the map i was handed in at the airport when collecting the rental car, had Tassin la demi-lune staring at me everytime i used it, and everytime i remembered your Peace Rose. This is just a tiny example of how other people's poetry reaches.... even if i hardly if ever comment." I was blown away by this - I've never been to France, never been to the UK, never met this woman - yet she was traveling through France and it made her think of my poem. This is why I write poetry and try to publish it. Here's my "Peace Rose" poem: The Peace Rose Carmine on the edges of ivory petals - French-nurtured from a single seed. Blood-brushed escape from World War II - seedlings on the last plane before Nazi Occupation. The smell of peace still years away, yet growing with pale gold, red-tipped full blooms in foreign fields, gardens. Treaties signed, gold medals earned - as Peace is planted in our yards, in our land, we spread its hope. © Deborah P. Kolodji 2004