(written on a Saturday)

I am a family person. I never thought of myself as such, but apparently I am. And I’m missing my family, actually counting the days when I get to return to Utah and family (and Anna and Danny and Christian and at least one afternoon of Will). Since I just celebrated a fairly embarrassing moment of self-discovery (see post on David Cook), I think I should celebrate this one, with a picture and some of the back-story that will never make it into analyses of my poetry (yes, I in fact do think about some poor fool writing papers on my poetry, and yes, I realize I need to publish for that to happen):

Abby has learned to say my name, or a version of my name. She learned this after I moved and I feel a little cheated. Or very cheated, take your pick. That, and missing Lauren, led to “Dear Sister,” a poem of letters and what can’t be in letters. I’m thinking there are a few more of these to follow, in one form or another.

Seth is at BYU, a fully-grown freshman. When I think of him, it’s most often the shake of his head he picked up when he had long hair and still does with short hair. I know he’s just months away from being one of the most amazing missionaries, but he’s still my baby brother. All this found its way to a still-untitled poem that wasn’t about him, but all of those boys (men?) like him. And him.

During the spring and summer at home, I had Maryn stories to tell. I miss telling those stories. They were funny and sweet and just a little doting (on my part). At the end of the summer, I asked Maryn to tell me stories. She still sends me emails with her stories, which thrill me. She’s living a life that is amazing and I love hearing about her life. Those stories belong in any number of poems and books and etc, but I wonder if Maryn will be the one to write them.