Being 17

That was the summer we practiced

the fine art of sharing space-

in a 3x5 army surplus tent, our

shield against bad dreams, our portal

into the mythical emerging adult world.

 

The horses were as hard-headed

and fearless, as we were-

and we galloped them all over

God’s green earth, that year.

 

I was 17, and already knew about

having the kind of life you need

to escape from.

 

We became giants that July.

We learned how to:

Cook. Paint. Play jokes.

Tell people to go to hell.

We forded rivers and roasted

the catfish we caught in the open

flames of our campfires.

 

Maybe we were nobody

at school, and maybe I was more or

less invisible at home- but ah, together

we were invincible. Our friends fell

into drugs and death, but we did not.

 

It felt like emancipation.

All of our confidences came to attend us,

with their arm around us as we huddled

through thunderstorms from behind

a canvas wall, their footsteps guiding

us when we got lost in the woods at night.

 

We carried imaginary lances

and vanquished high school drama

from horseback. We were beautiful.

We were bold, we lived bravely.

 

Until we discovered that final lesson:

there is nothing quite like the kiss

of a good-looking neighbor boy

to also liberate every damned insecurity

of the heart of a young, almost woman. 

Author's Note

This piece was written as a meditation on the theme "emancipation" as an exercise for our poetry club. I thought to times in my life when I felt or learned about emancipation, and went back to the summer just before I moved out of my mom's home permanently, to when my best friend and I practiced life as nomads living in a tent in her backyard. Oh what fun.

picture is of us, from either that summer, or the summer before.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

it's good that youth is practiced because if not we would just shimmy and shake into adulthood with little bravery and not an once of entropy. Like that poem Plath wrote about two babysitters where you just know an adult is doing the remembering the way observations and written works were shared. But poetry keeps our emotions honestly tucked away in our dispositions; perhaps even in the positions we have attained. And each and every step a young girl takes in the spirit of discovery, IS emancipation......wonderful writing....dana

[Raquelita]

Thanks for your piercing, insightful review, my dear friend. I have worked with the type of youth of whom you speak- polished, accomplished, comfortable, cared for. Many have been nice enough kids, but without an ounce of grit or wisdom or gumption or sense of wonder or curiosity. Their world revolves around brand names and trying new types of alcohol. I like to think that as we advance through life, we do not move in straight lines so much as we spiral back to build anew upon platforms of our previous selves. To understand the man you are today, go back and interview the man you were when you were invincible, and ask whose shoulders he was standing upon.

The folks in my poetry group really liked this one, too. Glad you stopped by. Love you.