Since half of the people who actually read this blog are my family members, it should come as no shock that I have a sister. My sister writes. And she writes well. I would like to think I have an unbiased opinion in this, but she is my sister, after all. A few months ago, she shuttled off to another state to get her second masters, an MFA in Poetry.
I really don't know how to say this in a elegant way, but I'm proud of her. I'm an introvert, who grew up in an introverted family, and my sister is an introvert to match all introverts. I feel like maybe I've written this before. If I haven't, it means I should have long ago. If I have, it needs repeating. She's halfway across the country, in a strange midwestern state. She teaches a couple of freshman english classes. Stands, in front of pimply 18 year olds, and teaches. She needs to publish 3 poems while she's there as well. And she is an introvert. An unmedicated introvert. I don't really know how she does it. And I know it's hard for her. This is a girl who doesn't like to call and make appointments or order pizza. But she's there, far from home, teaching and writing, putting herself out there, pursuing her dream. And I'm here. Close to home, in a city I love, medicated to the max on my zoloft, and I don't even know what my dream is. I'm jealous of her. I'm jealous for her. And maybe one day, I can be as brave as she is.
One of her poems is available on this website:
http://www.asenseofplacewa.com/pages/Anthology/anthology.html
"Naches Peak Loop: 5900 Feet"
by Seanse Ducken
I have stopped using my voice in poems
because I lose my focus. But I think of trails
and what to say about mountains and how I'd
like to say it myself.
Here at the top of Chinook Pass I can pause,
take my breath firmly in hand and measure
the seconds in terms of wildflowers and stalks
of hardy alpine trees.
I yelled at my friends once for leaving the trail
and going off into the meadows. Mostly because the sign
at my feet said "fragile," and I shouted about short growing
seasons and ecosystems, but truly I was jealous.
As if they dove into the magnetic pull of the Pacific
without me, and I was left on the beach pondering
the undertow. The meadows must feel like swimming,
smooth and cold.
When I am done here, fine, silt-like dust covers
my boots, and I think, it is enough, to leave
the lupine the bear grass the trillium untouched, exotic
creatures in the deep deep kingdom of migratory peace.
I really don't know how to say this in a elegant way, but I'm proud of her. I'm an introvert, who grew up in an introverted family, and my sister is an introvert to match all introverts. I feel like maybe I've written this before. If I haven't, it means I should have long ago. If I have, it needs repeating. She's halfway across the country, in a strange midwestern state. She teaches a couple of freshman english classes. Stands, in front of pimply 18 year olds, and teaches. She needs to publish 3 poems while she's there as well. And she is an introvert. An unmedicated introvert. I don't really know how she does it. And I know it's hard for her. This is a girl who doesn't like to call and make appointments or order pizza. But she's there, far from home, teaching and writing, putting herself out there, pursuing her dream. And I'm here. Close to home, in a city I love, medicated to the max on my zoloft, and I don't even know what my dream is. I'm jealous of her. I'm jealous for her. And maybe one day, I can be as brave as she is.
One of her poems is available on this website:
http://www.asenseofplacewa.com/pages/Anthology/anthology.html
"Naches Peak Loop: 5900 Feet"
by Seanse Ducken
I have stopped using my voice in poems
because I lose my focus. But I think of trails
and what to say about mountains and how I'd
like to say it myself.
Here at the top of Chinook Pass I can pause,
take my breath firmly in hand and measure
the seconds in terms of wildflowers and stalks
of hardy alpine trees.
I yelled at my friends once for leaving the trail
and going off into the meadows. Mostly because the sign
at my feet said "fragile," and I shouted about short growing
seasons and ecosystems, but truly I was jealous.
As if they dove into the magnetic pull of the Pacific
without me, and I was left on the beach pondering
the undertow. The meadows must feel like swimming,
smooth and cold.
When I am done here, fine, silt-like dust covers
my boots, and I think, it is enough, to leave
the lupine the bear grass the trillium untouched, exotic
creatures in the deep deep kingdom of migratory peace.
