soulschool teacher
            —with thanks to meg for shared recall

we’re in maine
at my folks’ house, part
of a gathering
of extended family.
                                         come nightfall
dave and i share
the pull-out couch
in the piano room.
meg, aged maybe 11 or 12,
spreads a sleeping bag a few feet away
on the floor. we enter sleep
deeply in our makeshift bedroom
in this home away from home
attuned to its silent
woodland acres.
                                   in the middle
of the night i sense movement,
hear rustling, lift my head
enough to make out meg.
she is standing. just
standing still
on top of her sleeping bag,
seeming not awake.
i ask, softly, thinking
she might be disoriented,
meggie, do you know
where you are?
                                she doesn’t respond
right away, but then asserts
in no uncertain terms—
MOM. i am RIGHT. HERE.

—dotty seiter

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Notes about poem and art:
• “soulschool teacher” is a free-verse narrative. Once I’d established the bare bones, I focused on recognizing and, in some cases, adding poetic devices such as internal rhyme (night/might/right), slant rhyme (out/couch; sleep/feet/seeming; head/meg; asserts/certain/terms), and alliteration (standing/still/sleeping/seeming/softly; movement/my/make/meg; few/feet/floor), aiming to do so with enough subtlety to maintain a grounded, conversational tone.
• Like daughter like granddaughter: In my poem, daughter Meg was my teacher; in my art, granddaughter Caroline. Before camp, Caroline and I took a walk during which I shared my weeks-long paralysis with next steps in a mood-mini in my sketchbook. Her attentive listening and thoughtful questions revived my spirit of experimentation, (re)teaching me to let go of attachment to outcome. I dove in and soon “wrecked” any chances of creating what I’d earlier locked in my mind’s eye. Hallelujah! I became happily reckless instead, and The Camp Friend emerged.