“I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” – Joan Didion
I
the weather was chill
but not chilly
late September arrived
quickly
without notice
II
I stepped outside
to enjoy the
changing seasons
wearing more layers
I made my way
around a
loop
before I ate
III
the sky left me
breathless
impatience
lingered in
my steps
shoes rubbed
my heels
IV
colors
on the trees
bring me life
and hope as
markers of time
moving
change welcomes
the small details
holding the
most meaning
I look to the moon
In September
As the leaves change
Into mystical colors
Days before the switch
In seasons
And the weather cools.
I hear the waves
Ringing the bell at sea.
I appreciate the sky
At dusk contrast
With the dark green
In the evergreens.
I first saw Andrew Wyeth’s painting Christina’s World in July 2023 at the MoMA in Midtown, New York. It was my third time at the museum. I can’t remember passing by it on my previous visits. I stood in front of the painting I had stumbled upon in a hallway for a few minutes. I marveled at the detail in Wyeth’s brush. How brilliant it was to see the subject’s entire world without seeing her face.
I returned to the painting after exploring the exhibit I was originally trying to find. I snapped a photo and made it my screensaver for a while.
When I returned to the museum in March of this year, I searched the floors trying to find the hallway that kept this painting. I found it and stood next to a man who was carrying a Strand Bookstore tote bag. He eventually left while I remained admiring the painting for ten minutes. People around me shuffling through the hallway.
While standing in front of the painting, I looked up where this was painted. To my surprise, he painted it in Cushing, Maine. In that moment, I knew I wanted to go see it.
Years ago, when my grandmother was still alive, she randomly sent me a novel inspired by Christina Olson’s life. A Piece of the World by Christina Baker Kline. In the pages, a delicate flower was pressed, almost as though she had used it as a bookmark. I kept it on my desk for months before it fell apart.
I didn’t put two and two together, that someone important to me had introduced me to this story years before I saw the painting until I realized where Wyeth had painted it. The miraculous mysteries of life, the invisible string connecting events.
–
On a beautiful cloudless day at the end of August, the day before my birthday, my two aunts and I went to go see it. I didn’t have any expectations about this place. I didn’t think about going there beyond knowing I wanted to see it myself.
I was taken aback by how beautiful the land was. How close to the sea the house actually is. It was being renovated so we couldn’t go inside. We glanced in through the windows. It was like looking into a different time, still reserved for now.
I was most in awe of how this spot was a big inspiration for Wyeth in his work. How he sought refuge here, how out of the way this place was from everything else. How this really was Christina Olson’s entire life.
What I didn’t expect was to see a graveyard by the water. To see this is where Wyeth was buried, directly facing where his famous painting was formed. To see this is where Christina Olson and her family were buried too, going back for many generations.
Art inspires us in different ways. I love paintings the same way I love writing. Creating something out of nothing. Having an idea and exploring all the possibilities and work it takes of bringing it to life. I can’t paint, but I admire those who can. Painters inspire me to write in a similar way writers inspire me to write. That these artists believed enough in what they were doing to share it and inspire others.
I count
my
steps
admire the flowers
feel for
the rain
that won’t fall today
the ominous clouds
quicken
my
pace
I lose track of
my
thoughts
lose track of the day
lazy day Saturday
with a book
my favorite way to be
still
quiet
windows open
breeze flowing through
nearing the edge
of summer
the final third
soon
it will be
too cold
I note my progress aloud
to remember when I’m feeling down
how far I’ve come, how I’ve changed
in the ways over the years.
Little mantras silence my inner critic
with evidence to back it up, I slowly
learn the process of being kind to myself.
I change my thoughts, I fight old patterns,
I inhale and exhale, reminding myself to be
grateful in moments of frustration.
The more I settle into my feelings
instead of bolting away from them into
numbness, the more I can process them
and understand the parts of me that
aren’t all the pretty. Doing the internal
work to be a more present, mindful, and
better person of myself is difficult
but it’s very much worth it.
I watch satellites follow
each other like fish in the sea.
The magic of the milky way
comes alive before my eyes.
I look up.
I feel small on the dock.
I always do when I’m confronted with
unknown of the vast universe above.
A part of this reminds me of the ocean,
the unknown feelings they leave in
my stomach sometimes
remind me to be grateful
and other times remind me of how
insignificant my life is in the grand
scheme of history.
Tonight I am grateful
and inspired to write this poem.
To capture a feeling
I can’t quite convey
but I try to anyway.
gray clouds roll along the coast
then stay longer than wanted
I find color amongst the flowers
they bring me happiness
finding gems in the ordinary days
I am my grandmother’s granddaughter
a different perspective
to see my life
from the outside
watching the water
now watching the land
the height of summer
the perfect temperature
sea-bands work being out
on the ocean catching lobster
on the water feeling waves
pretty lucky this is my day
with family in the place
that’s always felt like home
now is mine
this story changed the trajectory of my life
because of this story, I am a writer.
because of this story, I found magic in poetry.
one summer sent me on a path I have been
navigating ever since.
being a writer means being motivated
by what scares me
what empowers me to write
stories like Patti and Robert’s, one of young
artists discovering their way through life
together, creating, exploring, believing
in themselves and each other.
their story has inspired me over the
last decade, every time i look at
the blue star on my ankle
i smile.
Summer comes in muggy and hot.
My clothes stick to my skin
each time I leave my apartment.
Days float together and time
stops making sense.
Each time I walk outside
I feel like I’m sinking into
a warm swimming pool
that I didn’t choose to
float in but here I am,
floating away down the lazy river
of days of this wildly weird summer.
Kelly Severseike 