When I Came West (Part Two)
During the years I spent with Bill in remote locations in Montana and Wyoming I wrote poetry about my day-to-day encounters with him and with the natural world outside the doors of our rustic cabins. The poems sometimes came easy, sometimes with great difficulty, but it seemed emotionally manageable to write a handful of lines replete with images and sensations.
With poetry I did not have to explain, nor did I even need to understand the circumstances in which I found myself. When I think back now I comprehend the great blessing that the muse bestowed on me when she sent me the words of creative outlet as lines of poetry. Each poem became a piece of the ever-expanding puzzle. Each poem served as a fulcrum on which I learned to balance the unfolding days.
In my early to late twenties I never had a desire to publish my poems. All I knew is that when I wrote down what I was seeing, hearing, and feeling I connected to something beyond myself that sustained me and gave me reason to go on. I also kept diaries and journals, and I amassed a huge collection of letters that I had written to family and friends which they lovingly saved for me. The poems eventually found their way into my early chapbooks (Blue Heron, Braintanning Buckskin: A Lesson for Beginners, Little Dancing Fawn's Tale of Christmas Joy) and first poetry collection (Glass-Eyed Paint in the Rain).
After many years of holistic counseling seeking to find a way into forgiveness and letting go of a past that continued to haunt me, I destroyed the diaries, journals and letters. The invaluable items of clothing and jewelry and craftsmanship that I had not returned to Bill, I donated to a museum. With a much lighter load to carry, I found my way into a brighter future.
