poems, practice, and process
by Hannah Stephenson
My great Grandfather used to spin the storywhen I was four. He'd had his head readas a teen, discovered he was meantto be a navigator, to translate the sea.He told me as he tucked me into bed,Just between us--you got my temperament.
Wow, there is something about this guy that makes me feel so sad. I won't share my fantasies about why that might be. But, I worry about his temperament.Your poem has much more hope and light than I see in the photo.
Your poem caused me to cry. Some deep longing lives in that man's stare and you capture it beautifully. I love your poems, never stop writing!!
It looks like he's haunted by that "you got my temperament" comment. Almost as if he'd read this before the photo was taken, but that's not possible.