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I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slowdown. I didn't get to the ocean this summer, but sometimes I can take a deep breath breath and travel there. In my imagination. I can hear the sound of the waves. I can see the pelicans flying in formation overhead, then diving for fish. I can smell the salt air. I can feel the wet sand beneath my feet as I walk the beach, collecting shells that catch my eye. I love the ocean for how small it makes me feel. I don't mean small in a negative way, a way that suggests insignificance. No standing on the beach, looking out at the expanse of blue that extends farther than I can see, I feel small in the best way. I'm reminded that I'm part of a whole and that this landscape existed before me and will exist after me. I feel grateful to be alive to witness it. Sometimes I wonder, am I especially in love with the ocean because I live in the middle of Ohio? If I lived on a coast, would I be as mesmerized I think and hope I would be. I think my job as a poet and as a human being is to always lean toward wonder. Today's poem offers us images we often find in poetry the ocean, the moon, dreams, a mother, a wound. But it offers us these elements in such a profoundly original and moving way. I couldn't read this poem just once. I had to read it several times, picking up new treasures with each reading, like walking along the same stretch of beach at different times of day and finding new shells. Notes on Beach Grass by Yong Yu Huang Again my mother calls about the dream where I strip wild lilies from the beach greenery, wandering in muted tones the thin decay of beauty of I learned in my mind's eye. In the distance an animal's fattened belly tips into salt, the sleeping dog, the tired barking of gulls. Don't I know this dullness These days I'd love anything buoyant. A sign by the rocks says removal of wildlife prohibited, and I scrape a knee in passing the ragged line, my welling heart above the moon devouring the shoreline, its face winter snapped and gibbous. It is always hungry, this evidence for gravity. I feel heavier than I should, bloated. Why are we always looking for water outside our bodies? I want the tide to move faster. I want it to fade in the evening's dragging breath, like the recoil of energy wound tight enough to trap foam in the small eyes of sand. My last night in the dunes I practiced meditating with my face tilted towards the rich leaving light, how my mother bought a dowsing rod to find me sprawled out and kissed with horseflies. Have you ever seen heaven? I asked. From where? With whom? I pulled her down next to me, above a bracket of birds heading south, the errant dog washed out to sea. I wept at the sound like the mark on my knee scabbing over quietly. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram @downdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org hey, it's Maggie. Every weekday, the Slowdown delivers the creativity and care of poetry to all free of charge, and your support makes it possible. Donating to the Slowdown is easy. Just go to slowdownshow.org donate to make your gift in less time than it takes to listen to an episode.
Episode 1363: “Notes on Beachgrass” by Yong-Yu Huang
Host: Maggie Smith
Date: September 30, 2025
In this episode, Maggie Smith reflects on the power of poetry to connect us with wonder, gratitude, and the natural world. She introduces and reads “Notes on Beachgrass” by Yong-Yu Huang, a poem that interweaves memories, nature, and longing. The episode centers on the feelings of insignificance and connection inspired by the ocean, and explores themes of familial bonds, searching, and the gravity of existence.
"I love the ocean for how small it makes me feel. I don't mean small in a negative way, a way that suggests insignificance. No—standing on the beach, looking out at the expanse of blue...I feel small in the best way."
— Maggie Smith, (04:15)
"I think my job as a poet and as a human being is to always lean toward wonder."
— Maggie Smith, (04:47)
"[The poem] offers us these elements in such a profoundly original and moving way. I couldn't read this poem just once. I had to read it several times, picking up new treasures with each reading, like walking along the same stretch of beach at different times of day and finding new shells."
— Maggie Smith, (05:01)
"Again my mother calls about the dream where I strip wild lilies from the beach greenery, wandering in muted tones the thin decay of beauty I learned in my mind’s eye. In the distance, an animal’s fattened belly tips into salt, the sleeping dog, the tired barking of gulls. Don’t I know this dullness? These days I’d love anything buoyant…"
— Excerpt read by Maggie Smith, (05:28–07:17)