Belated thanks for your comment, SL Miller! I can't take credit for the photography; it's borrowed from Substack's stock-photo collection (photographer's credit is under the picture). The poem is all mine, though, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
I am in love with your poetry. Since the pandemic, I’ve had a hard time finding good reading material. I think my quest is now complete after discovering Substack.
😊 this poem brought back memories of the excitement on the Apollo 11 moon landing. What a time that was. I was on the other side of this planet and my experience was very different. Your poetry has such a sense of place and time. I love how you enter the mind of that self.
I so enjoy your poems Elizabeth, even ones like this poem with it melancholy of a sad childhood. I have lived another version of being a child introvert. Being a much loved only child until I was 6, I grew to happily entertain myself. The world had so much to be interested with. As my two sisters and 1 brother came along, I was okay with that, but they were a little like having family pets which you fed and were kind to. I happily carried on my solo life enjoying occasional times together but mostly going my separate way. Now in my mid 70's it is only in very recent years that I have come to see how I was ignoring them. It has left a rift that we can communicate across when needed but is full of questions and misunderstandings that are not spoken of. Any attempt to clear the air seems only to cause more distance. My interests and theirs are so different. I am only thankful that we remain civil with one another. They are each good people, as am I, I think. I was just meant to live a different life. A solo life.
Thank you for sharing such generous reflections on your own childhood, Sandy. I hope the poem -- at least the last section -- reflects some of the joy and delight that were mixed in with the anxieties of my younger years. For most of us it's a both/and, I think.
It was a lot to live through, wasn't it Fotini? Still is, but thank goodness for an adult-self who can be some real company for my child-self these days. Thank you as always for reading. 💛🌿
I also think this works very well, Elizabeth. You were a very perceptive child, which can be a heavy burden. You have captured this time so beautifully, it really feels as if this poem has come straight from the heart of young Elizabeth.
I'm so glad you reposted this. The first Girl Scout campout I went was traumatizing. I only went to a couple more because my mother became leader and I couldn't not go. This captures that time so well and I love how you weave in the moon landing and Apollo.
Thanks so much, LeeAnn. What amazes me is how hard I worked at the time to convince myself I was having fun. It's really only been in retrospect that I can look back and say, "You know what, sweetie? Really not your happy place."
I was a little younger, my memories of the landing non-existent save for one: I received for my birthday (7/17) and still have a jewelry box that plays "Fly Me to the Moon."
So hard to explain, to those who don't know the feeling, what it's like always feeling like you're just outside the bubble. Or perhaps inside it, while everything else goes on around you. Interesting to explore that sensation through your words, Elizabeth, so personal yet so universal.
"...what it's like always feeling like you're just outside the bubble. Or perhaps inside it, while everything else goes on around you." Spot-on, Elizabeth, beautifully expressed.
This feels so familiar to me. That sense of not quite belonging in the world of kids, but definitely not at ease in the adult world either. Introverted before it was cool. I dreaded Brownies so much I never made it to Girl Scouts. I remember trying to explain to my mother how horrible it was for me to give an oral report in front of the class. She shook her head and said, "But we're not like that in this family." Oof. I really love this poem. I'm so glad you reposted it. And I think the moon landing is fantastic - positioning the events in time.
"But we're not like that in this family...." seriously, Tara's mom???? Oof is the word.
Oddly I didn't mind front-of-class stuff (or other kinds of public speaking, later on); it was situations where I was supposed to socialize and "make friends" that made me want to shrivel up and disappear. "Not quite belonging in the world of kids" sums it up beautifully.
Love from one pre-cool introvert to another, Tara. I'm glad the poem speaks to you.
It definitely works. I really like the rich, chaotic, tumbling journey of the ship with the girl trying to work her way through camp and illness and shyness and so many other things.
You really captured that moment in time, with the "big" events and your personal one. Very good.
I was ten then, and we were packing up our house in Greece to move back to the US, which I did not want. We had packing boxes everywhere and the small black and white tv sat on a cardboard box. Big changes, it felt, in the big world, and also in mine.
I think it works, too. You are 11, it was Appollo 11, and 11 is the age when everything takes off in "a measured perilous arc from fire/into the studied dark unknown."
Once again a pleasure to read. Your photography is brilliant! Cheers.
Belated thanks for your comment, SL Miller! I can't take credit for the photography; it's borrowed from Substack's stock-photo collection (photographer's credit is under the picture). The poem is all mine, though, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
I am in love with your poetry. Since the pandemic, I’ve had a hard time finding good reading material. I think my quest is now complete after discovering Substack.
So glad you've found Substack, Ahalya, and so glad that my poems speak to you!
😊 this poem brought back memories of the excitement on the Apollo 11 moon landing. What a time that was. I was on the other side of this planet and my experience was very different. Your poetry has such a sense of place and time. I love how you enter the mind of that self.
I so enjoy your poems Elizabeth, even ones like this poem with it melancholy of a sad childhood. I have lived another version of being a child introvert. Being a much loved only child until I was 6, I grew to happily entertain myself. The world had so much to be interested with. As my two sisters and 1 brother came along, I was okay with that, but they were a little like having family pets which you fed and were kind to. I happily carried on my solo life enjoying occasional times together but mostly going my separate way. Now in my mid 70's it is only in very recent years that I have come to see how I was ignoring them. It has left a rift that we can communicate across when needed but is full of questions and misunderstandings that are not spoken of. Any attempt to clear the air seems only to cause more distance. My interests and theirs are so different. I am only thankful that we remain civil with one another. They are each good people, as am I, I think. I was just meant to live a different life. A solo life.
Thank you for sharing such generous reflections on your own childhood, Sandy. I hope the poem -- at least the last section -- reflects some of the joy and delight that were mixed in with the anxieties of my younger years. For most of us it's a both/and, I think.
Oh, that ever present dread...
It was a lot to live through, wasn't it Fotini? Still is, but thank goodness for an adult-self who can be some real company for my child-self these days. Thank you as always for reading. 💛🌿
I also think this works very well, Elizabeth. You were a very perceptive child, which can be a heavy burden. You have captured this time so beautifully, it really feels as if this poem has come straight from the heart of young Elizabeth.
Thank you for such a generous and empathetic reading, Maureen.
I'm so glad you reposted this. The first Girl Scout campout I went was traumatizing. I only went to a couple more because my mother became leader and I couldn't not go. This captures that time so well and I love how you weave in the moon landing and Apollo.
Thanks so much, LeeAnn. What amazes me is how hard I worked at the time to convince myself I was having fun. It's really only been in retrospect that I can look back and say, "You know what, sweetie? Really not your happy place."
Indeed. Not mine either. But you’ve inspired me to write about it.
I was a little younger, my memories of the landing non-existent save for one: I received for my birthday (7/17) and still have a jewelry box that plays "Fly Me to the Moon."
So hard to explain, to those who don't know the feeling, what it's like always feeling like you're just outside the bubble. Or perhaps inside it, while everything else goes on around you. Interesting to explore that sensation through your words, Elizabeth, so personal yet so universal.
"...what it's like always feeling like you're just outside the bubble. Or perhaps inside it, while everything else goes on around you." Spot-on, Elizabeth, beautifully expressed.
This feels so familiar to me. That sense of not quite belonging in the world of kids, but definitely not at ease in the adult world either. Introverted before it was cool. I dreaded Brownies so much I never made it to Girl Scouts. I remember trying to explain to my mother how horrible it was for me to give an oral report in front of the class. She shook her head and said, "But we're not like that in this family." Oof. I really love this poem. I'm so glad you reposted it. And I think the moon landing is fantastic - positioning the events in time.
"But we're not like that in this family...." seriously, Tara's mom???? Oof is the word.
Oddly I didn't mind front-of-class stuff (or other kinds of public speaking, later on); it was situations where I was supposed to socialize and "make friends" that made me want to shrivel up and disappear. "Not quite belonging in the world of kids" sums it up beautifully.
Love from one pre-cool introvert to another, Tara. I'm glad the poem speaks to you.
It definitely works. I really like the rich, chaotic, tumbling journey of the ship with the girl trying to work her way through camp and illness and shyness and so many other things.
Thank you, Margaret Ann. 💛🌿
You really captured that moment in time, with the "big" events and your personal one. Very good.
I was ten then, and we were packing up our house in Greece to move back to the US, which I did not want. We had packing boxes everywhere and the small black and white tv sat on a cardboard box. Big changes, it felt, in the big world, and also in mine.
Thanks so much, Wes. It's amazing, isn't it, how vivid memories coalesce around certain events....
It really is. We were packing up to leave the US when the Watergate hearings were on, same thing, black and white tv on cardboard boxes.
I think it works, too. You are 11, it was Appollo 11, and 11 is the age when everything takes off in "a measured perilous arc from fire/into the studied dark unknown."
Oh, what a lovely insight! Thank you, Rita.