For the past five years, writing instructor Susannah Risley has provided support and encouragement to writers of all levels of experience, helping them find ways to bring nature into their poetry, short stories, and memoirs. We are fortunate to have received funding for these classes through the Poets & Writers organization.
We are pleased to share the work of one of our class participants. We hope to continue our writing class next year.
My son Mykah Facetimes me, walking around the base in Germany with his tablet. Here is his barracks, here is the DEFAC, here is the commissary. “Look at these, Mom.” He turns the tablet camera to a clump of flowers growing in a muddy median between sidewalks, blue-green sword-like leaves, purple petals curled up like cupped hands, others flowing down like a formal gown. “Iris,” I tell him, though I think he knows.
I find a single flower growing in the swamp behind our apartment building, surrounded by weeds. Regardless of the competition, the iris seems to thrive in the damp soil, its blossom generous and bright. I snap a photo and post it on Facebook, tagging Mykah.
Later I sit in my mother’s living room, looking out the window at her iris, a yellow with deep purple variety framed by white peonies, and open my computer. I check my Facebook notifications and see my son has liked one of my photos. I click the notice and the iris flower photograph pops up on my screen.
Volume 36 , Number 3