Poetry Writing Lessons: Opening Doorways Like Jane Hirshfield

Kaecey McCormick
11 minutes ago
5 min read

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

I'm really enjoying this series of posts, as I'm learning so much by writing them. Thanks for reading!

Cozy scene with a patterned fabric notebook, a mug of coffee on a teal tray with winter leaves, set on crumpled blue sheets.

This month’s Poetry Writing Lessons post is focused on finding inspiration in small, manageable chunks—the kind you can carry with you even in the busiest season.

I've selected Jane Hirshfield's poem "Almond, Rabbit" from Ledger. (Click the link to read the poem, which I can't copy here in full due to copyright regulations!)

"Almond, Rabbit" is a piece that reflects something I found again and again in the collection: that one poem can open an entire doorway into how we think, feel, and move through the world.

For me, this poem is a great example of how to write the unsaid. Rather than telling us what it’s "about," the poem builds meaning through implied consequence—showing how each action ripples outward into futures we may never see.

It's also a good reminder that in poetry, we don't always need to make "grand declarations" to create emotional resonances. In fact, it's often the quiet moves on the page that open the deepest emotional and imaginative spaces.

Let’s take a closer look!

Analysis:

(1) The power of the plainspoken line

Close-up of a person with a mustache biting into a shiny red apple. The image emphasizes the texture of the apple and skin.

One quality that often defines Jane Hirshfield's work is her clarity. She states things plainly, and the opening line of "Almond, Rabbit" is no different, beginning the piece with a deceptively simple statement:

“Each thing you eat, / another future disappears from the future.”

The line is calm, direct, almost conversational. But the idea is a HUGE: one small act touches a whole chain of unseen possibilities.

What I'm noticing here is that the simplicity of the language allows the complexity of the thought behind it to expand.

Takeaway for writers: Plain language can hold profound ideas. You don't need to get fancy or try to dress up big ideas with poetic diction. Let clarity and plainspoken language open the door to depth.

(2) Building meaning through consequence

Instead of offering interpretation or emotional commentary, the poem builds its tension through cause and effect.

A thing is eaten → its future vanishes.
A body is consumed → it tastes of what it has eaten.
Birds enter and leave → somewhere else is altered.

This sequence creates meaning not through explanation, but through implication. Hirshfield trusts the reader to follow the ripple outward.

Takeaway for writers: Try letting consequences do the heavy lifting. Show how one moment touches another, and let that chain of effects reveal the poem’s larger ideas.

(3) The subtle strangeness of perspective-shift

Midway through the poem, Hirshfield pivots:

“And if you yourself now were eaten...”

A woman in a white dress stands in a field facing a row of colorful doors under a blue sky with clouds. The mood is contemplative.

It’s a startling shift—a quiet hypothetical that reframes the entire poem.

Suddenly the reader is implicated. This move creates philosophical intimacy: the poem becomes not just about the natural world, but about the reader’s place in it.

The shift is brief, almost understated, yet it alters the poem’s gravity, or emotional weight and meaning.

Takeaway for writers: A small, surprising change in perspective can widen the entire field of the poem. Don’t be afraid to introduce a single, well-placed “what if” to transform the reader’s relationship to the subject.

(4) The emotional work of restraint

The poem never tells you how to feel. There is no moral, no overt message—just images, logic, and possibility. Hirshfield’s restraint invites emotion by giving the reader space to enter.

This is especially powerful in the closing lines, where the poem gestures toward the existence of other futures, other lives, without naming them.

Takeaway for writers: Emotion doesn’t always come from saying more. Sometimes saying less—letting meaning hover just outside the frame—is the most generous choice.

Step-by-step writing exercise:

Using consequence and logic in a poem

For this exercise, you’ll write a poem that begins with a small action and expands outward through a series of imagined effects. Set aside 20-40 minutes and see what you can produce on the page!

A yellow pear on green, a door handle with earrings, and a broom on sunny wood floor, creating a cozy indoor atmosphere.

Choose a small, ordinary object or action.
Pick something simple and concrete—a food, an object, an animal, a daily motion. Examples: → a pear → a fallen earring → a door opening → the act of sweeping the floor
The plainer it is, the better.
Ask: what futures are attached to it?
Before you write, jot a few notes about what depends on your chosen object: → Who or what interacts with it? → What might it become? → What disappears or changes when it’s used, eaten, broken, or moved? Think in chains of consequence, not emotions.
Begin with a clear, declarative statement.
Like Hirshfield’s opening line, start your poem with a plain sentence that feels factual—even if its logic is a little strange. Examples: → “Every apple contains three forgotten doors.” → “Each time you sweep, one memory loosens.”
Keep the tone steady and matter-of-fact.
Follow the "chain" and let each line cause the next.
Write 5–12 lines in which each new line arises from the previous one. You might describe: → what else is affected → who is altered → what is lost, gained, or transformed → how the world shifts by one degree
Stay observational, not emotional. Let implication carry the feeling.
Introduce one brief perspective shift.
At some point, pivot the way Hirshfield does: → turn the focus to the reader → to yourself → or to an unexpected subject (an animal, a tool, a shadow)
This small shift can subtly reframe the whole poem.
End with quiet space, not a conclusion. Avoid big summations or final statements. Instead, end on: → a detail → an unanswered thought → an image that feels like an open door
Let the reader feel the “hover” at the poem’s edge.
OPTIONAL: Read aloud for resonance. When revising, listen to your words as you read them out loud. Pay attention for: → repeated consonants → parallel phrasing → soft echoing sounds Even in a sparse poem, sound can add an invisible emotional pulse.

Final thoughts on poetry writing lessons for January

I hope this first poetry lesson of the year helps you kick off your 'writing year' with a fun, accessible poetry exercise you can build on over the weeks to come.

Book cover: The Everyday Writer's Guide to Starting a Writing Practice by Kaecey McCormick. Black background with bold yellow and white text.

If you enjoyed this poetry writing lesson and want more guided prompts and exercises, you might love my workbook The Everyday Writer's Guide to Starting a Writing Practice. It’s packed with step-by-step activities to help you stay inspired year-round.