Voices on the Wind Voices from Teen Years
Paean by Susan Stevens When I think that being solitary has always occupied a glorified place in my head, then at 19 hearing your words: I wish you'd ask me to do more for you, I see that acting singly is no more noble than that interdependence which we have. The exalted loner can be much made over, even deified, yet has but a handhold on the elevation we reach relying on one another. Praise for living alone is exaggerated. How can I truly celebrate it in the midst of your possessions? Your clothes surround me in riotous multicolor, books flagged and waiting, as you head to Sewanee; the imprint of your touch on my arm remains. Your absence gives pause to our readings— suspended literary arch—confounding, self-contradictory (you are all places), conjuring up the way things are on hikes on rides in groups alone at a gig on a job with a book with a song/without it in a clinch at rest ambling at a run in crisis in repose looking at the outside the inside track of one another seeing allowing the labor possible only when engaged with someone else