My Longstanding Duet: A Poem and A Painting, Notes About Both

Last week I was sent the final proof call for my poem Milkweed which will be published in Lone Mountain Literary Society's annual print issue (2026). They are a small press located in San Francisco. I was honored to see that my poem is the first in the listed contents. It is followed by several other poems, prose pieces and artworks resulting in a 100 plus pages of creative work. 

This publication was especially significant to me. My creative identity felt vulnerable after moving to a place where I've never lived before. Especially to a place where a large, long-standing artists' community was established and appears bulging at its creative seams. Where would I fit in? Even my short bio announces my move:

Yet, I already knew my answer. Like many elementary teachers, I am an extrovert at school and an introvert at home. I have always written my poetry or crafted my artwork, unless attending a rare class, within the creative cave I call home. 

Too, for the past few years I have been intentionally sending my work to small presses I am unfamiliar with and outside Alaska, stretching my creative boundaries. Last year one of my paintings was published in an anthology by a small press also in San Francisco. Therefore, I knew it was possible. I just had to trust my work without knowing my audience as well as I have. 

I remember when I first got the acceptance letter for Milkweed that I wrote on my social media accounts, "Look! I'm still a poet! Much has changed but this remains!' I even text a friend how I thought my poetry writing days were over. I hadn't written one during the first months after my move, but now I had and it was soon to be published. Plus, it had to do with this new place where I now live.

They replied "Everyone needs a creative sabbatical now and then. I am sure you'll always be a poet, Susan." I have been a poet since I was a young child. I was always scribbling in a notebook while sitting under hanging clothes in one hall closet or another. Yes, I have also always been a cave dweller, ones I found and ones I created. 

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About art …

I received the Winter issue of Alaska Women Speak journal in the mail yesterday. They accept work by women who currently live in Alaska or did live there for a period of time like me. My painting, Nine Norway Maple Seed Portraits was printed within. 

This published artwork in an Alaska based journal combines the audience for most of my previous work with content specific to where I currently live in Portland, Oregon. The watercolor and pastel chalk artwork is of Maple seed samaras (more casually called helicopters) I gathered while out walking in one of Portland's historic neighborhoods. Although, I must note that I have read that there are Norway Maple trees in Anchorage, Alaska. I may have walked under a few and even gathered a handful of helicopters I later found at the bottom of my tote. I am a wandering botanical archivist, what may I say! 

With these thoughts in mind, I am confident that some readers of AWS will note that the samaras I've painted often gather outside on their sidewalks in Spring, however late it arrives. It's a poetic commentary on moving forward while sustaining significant connections made in the past. I am. I'll close with one more photo of my work above. A celebration of the changes and the constants in my life. I am a poet and a painter. 

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