I've had the experience of re-reading journal entries from many years ago, particularly those from a time when I was deeply entrenched in a particular community, one with a lot of expectations and its own lexicon. Boy did I absorb all that!
I'm picturing your feral orchards in particular. Oh, such fruit!
I love “the tang of pine spruce fir cedar”! Also, I have a Mountain Meg friend! I mean, she’s not quite that wild, but she’s very mountain-y! And she’d love that Mountain Meg will trash the nasty toys of those coming for her trees! Gotta share this with her. Thank you!
I really, really like both of these. I can hear a hint of you (the you I know from your previous poems), but you're right--I wouldn't necessarily know they were yours if I came across them in the wild. This is making me hungry for prompts again. I like being taken out of my own brain for a bit.
I love both these poems and as usual your thoughts on them helps illuminate where they came from. But your childhood will never leave you, so it is no wonder these images keep coming up. They are who you are.
Also, I *feel* it in a different way than I probably would if it weren't for a week ago Monday. A week ago Monday, I had to take someone to the airport, and after I dropped them off, I stopped by the seaside neighborhood where my mom grew up and where, as a teen/early-twenty, I lived summers with my grandparents so I could work at a day camp. I sat and looked at the boats in a marina, and the water, and the birds, and was overcome with how much of myself has been informed by this backdrop, along with the backdrop of New England woods and falling down mills from the town I really grew up in. It was a very visceral but not altogether unpleasant realization.
Yes! I used to have a very similar feeling when my dad was alive and I'd visit him in the town where I grew up. Thank you for describing this so well, Jenn.
I think I hadn't really noticed before because I have returned to (and lived for quite some time now, in) the town where I grew up. Going back to a less-frequented place highlighted everything a lot more this time, even though it's not the first time I've been back there since those days.
Inspiring....seeing selves of self...long time between...it's like we're always becoming.
Mountain Meg or Vera Grace?
Meg is 'way more feral than Vera Grace! They definitely share an ancestor, though.
I've had the experience of re-reading journal entries from many years ago, particularly those from a time when I was deeply entrenched in a particular community, one with a lot of expectations and its own lexicon. Boy did I absorb all that!
I'm picturing your feral orchards in particular. Oh, such fruit!
Not lovely, that fruit, but the flavor was intense. Thanks so much for the open-hearted reading, Elizabeth.
Enjoyer. Toughroot is great word
Fun of poems is, make new words. Thank for reading, Cat.
I love “the tang of pine spruce fir cedar”! Also, I have a Mountain Meg friend! I mean, she’s not quite that wild, but she’s very mountain-y! And she’d love that Mountain Meg will trash the nasty toys of those coming for her trees! Gotta share this with her. Thank you!
Thanks for reading, Petrina. I hope your friend likes Meg!
Both quite powerful. In "where I come from" were there fireflies?
A whole skyful of stars, but not a single firefly! I hope I get to see some someday.
Thanks for reading, Wes.
I love both of these, Elizabeth. The detail in the first is stunning. And the second is just fun. How wonderful when we surprise ourselves.
Thanks so much, LeeAnn! 💛🌿
Loved both of these. The natural world evocations were wonderful as was the Wild Woman!
Thank you, Shari! 💛🌿
I will join the chorus saying that this is some of your best! Touches me deeply! This source is you. Cleanly expressed and fresh as mountain air.
Thanks so much, Sandy! 💛🌿
These are both stellar!
Thank you, Kim! 💛🌿
I really, really like both of these. I can hear a hint of you (the you I know from your previous poems), but you're right--I wouldn't necessarily know they were yours if I came across them in the wild. This is making me hungry for prompts again. I like being taken out of my own brain for a bit.
That April prompt-a-palooza was the most fun! So glad I met you and your poems there, Margaret Ann.
The feeling is mutual 💛.
I love both these poems and as usual your thoughts on them helps illuminate where they came from. But your childhood will never leave you, so it is no wonder these images keep coming up. They are who you are.
Thanks, Rose! 💛🌿
Love both of these poems, but especially Where I Come From. And that first stanza. Yes.
Thank you, MK. 💛🌿
I really really love this.
Also, I *feel* it in a different way than I probably would if it weren't for a week ago Monday. A week ago Monday, I had to take someone to the airport, and after I dropped them off, I stopped by the seaside neighborhood where my mom grew up and where, as a teen/early-twenty, I lived summers with my grandparents so I could work at a day camp. I sat and looked at the boats in a marina, and the water, and the birds, and was overcome with how much of myself has been informed by this backdrop, along with the backdrop of New England woods and falling down mills from the town I really grew up in. It was a very visceral but not altogether unpleasant realization.
Yes! I used to have a very similar feeling when my dad was alive and I'd visit him in the town where I grew up. Thank you for describing this so well, Jenn.
I think I hadn't really noticed before because I have returned to (and lived for quite some time now, in) the town where I grew up. Going back to a less-frequented place highlighted everything a lot more this time, even though it's not the first time I've been back there since those days.
Incredibly powerful stuff. Inspirational how you use words. Thanks.
Thank you for reading, Richard.
Thanks so much, Treasa! Glad that Meg has another fan. 💛🌿