I went into the woods to write
a story about going into the woods.
When I got there (The Retreat at Pointers Ridge)
I realized I didn’t want to write the story,
which is to say, I didn’t want to write the story
just yet.
What I wanted to write, it turns out, was
poetry.
I’ve been writing poems since I was ten years old.
Or before.
The first one I memorized (of my own creation) was
about a snowflake. The snowflake, to be clear,
was not my creation. The poem, delightfully, was.
No one tells you, when you are young,
that you can journey well as a poet.
No one tells you, when you are in the middle of life,
that you can journey well as a poet.
What will they say when I am old …
or will I simply no
longer hear them?
I joined the Marines, once,
long ago. I learned the language
of conflict. I learned love.
Hope. Fear.
I went to college. I learned
the same things, only
from books.
It was in the woods where I
remembered: I speak
more than one tongue.
I know
more than one path.
I am
from more than one home.
I am more
than one woman.
I contain multitudes
still, I contain
multitudes I
contain still
multitudes
multitudes I
contain.
Still.
(All photo poems are from The Retreat at Pointers Ridge, South Dakota. The painted door is a creation by artist Jennifer White. Don’t know her work yet? Wait. The photo of the sky out the window of the Writer’s Cabin was inspired by a different photo, made by Jeff Paul. One moment after the other, I tried to see the world as Jeff sees the world, as Jennifer sees the world, as I see the world. I am better for the experience.)
Lori … you rock. And so does your poem. Thanks for gracing our Writer’s Cabin for the first time. Nobody does it better! Look forward to seeing you and Jane again soon.