Poetry and Healing

The Poetry Society of Texas’ 2023 A Book of the Year arrived in my mail a couple of days ago. The collection of winning poems from the 2022 monthly and annual contests includes two pieces by me. “Upon Running into a Former Sweater at Goodwill” won the Old South Prize, and “Eating the Watermelon Moon” won the Anthony Dickson Memorial Award.

I’m really happy both of these poems found a home. The one about the sweater has always gotten a laugh at readings, and I like the fact that behind the silliness, there’s a deeper meaning about letting go of the past and not falling back into old habits or bad relationships. And the watermelon moon poem is just one of those weird little pieces that came to me mostly formed. I’ve played with the structure of it over the years—longer lines, shorter lines, word placement—but the words themselves never really changed. I love the imagery and how it appeals (hopefully) to the reader’s senses.

Despite how happy I am to see these two poems in print, receiving this book also gave me a creepy feeling.

I submitted my entries to the PST annual contests last August from my husband’s hospital room where he was being treated for a strange illness. (He’s fine now.) In November, I received the news that two of my poems had won prizes while I was in my mom’s hospital room where she was recovering from unexpected surgery. (She’s fine now.) When the copy of the 2023 A Book of the Year arrived at my door last week, I had just returned home from the hospital where I had surgery. (I’m recovering well and will be fine soon.)

The coincidences of these events initially sent a shiver down my spine. Some people might see the connection as a bad omen, linking the poems to illness and stress and negative experiences. Some might vow not to enter the PST contests this year.

But, after thinking about it, I don’t see things that way.

Editing and submitting poems and barely meeting the deadline for submission was a great distraction for me during those first couple of days in the hospital with my husband. Back then, we still didn’t know what was wrong with him. No one did. I had so little control over anything at that time, it was nice to be able to focus on something concrete while he was sleeping and I was waiting for answers.

Sharing the news with my mom about my poems winning awards was another happy distraction during her difficult ordeal. I read her my poems while she was still loopy from her medication, so she may not have a vivid memory of them, but it was still nice, for just a moment, to think about poetry instead of pain.

And having a book of poetry show up at your door is never a bad thing, especially when you’re currently stuck in bed with plenty of time to read.

Poetry is healing. The fact that these poetic experiences showed up when I needed them is not a sign of something sinister, but rather a gift for which to be grateful. There’s no jinx on this collection of poems. I look forward to reading it and submitting more of my work to PST this August.

Here are my two poems from the Poetry Society of Texas’ 2023 A Book of the Year, along with a drawing I did to go with the second one. Enjoy!

Upon Running into a Former Sweater at Goodwill

It’s always awkward seeing it there
lounging on the rack with the other clothes.
You instantly recognize the familiar wear and tear,
the pen mark on the pocket and the slouchy way 
it shrugs one shoulder off the hanger.
But there’s something different about it too—
Wasn’t it more faded than that?
Hadn’t its sleeves stretched out from overuse?
And if not, why did you ever give it up?
You blush at your next thought and glance around,
but no one suspects the truth—
that you two used to live together,
knew each other’s curves intimately.
You’re embarrassed by your desire
to take back this former love, bring it home, 
reintroduce it to the laundry schedule.
Don’t.
It hasn’t changed as much as you think.  
You won’t even be home again 
before you notice its old flaws.
Remember how high maintenance it was?
Too good for the washing machine,
always demanding a date with the dry cleaner?
Deep down you know it no longer fits.
It’s best to just keep walking.

© Carie Juettner

Eating the Watermelon Moon

The Cheshire Cat's 
smile tonight 
is red and juicy, 
his black seed 
teeth embedded 
deep in the flesh 
of the fruit 
hanging over 
the horizon. 
No wonder 
the rain tastes 
so sweet
and the clouds 
smell of pink 
cotton candy. 
I reach up through 
the warm drips 
for a slice of heaven, 
my lips aching 
to kiss 
the sky's grin. 
I run my tongue 
over craters pooled 
with deliciousness. 
Tonight I feast 
on lunacy.

© Carie Juettner

*

May you and your loved ones be well. And if you’re going through something tough and looking for a distraction, I recommend a little poetry.

Spooky America News: A Cover Reveal & Interview!

Greetings, ghost story fans! I have some fun news to share.

First of all, I normally like to encourage people to get outside, enjoy nature, breathe some fresh air, and go exploring. But it is HOT down here in Texas right now. 🥵 Like, dangerously hot and also extremely humid. The combination makes me feel like this –> 🫠 every time I go outside. So if you live in my part of the world, now is a good time to put outdoor adventures on hold and stay inside reading a book or watching a little TV. I have a couple of recommendations for you.

First, if you live in North Texas, I suggest you tune in to Texas Today this Friday, June 23, at 11:30AM on NBC (KXAS channel 5) to hear me chat with Kirstin Dickerson about my most recent book in the Spooky America series, The Ghostly Tales of Dallas. This collection of true stories about haunted places in the DFW area is perfect for kids 8-12 years old who like reading about ghosts while also learning some local history. And you don’t need to wait for campfire weather to enjoy it. The book is a great addition to air-conditioned summer sleepovers, too!

If you’d like a copy, you can check your local bookstores or order from your favorite online booksellers, but you can also get a signed, personalized copy from me. Just send me an email through my contact page, and we’ll work out the details. The books are $12, including shipping.

Here’s a photo from my interview with Texas Today. No, they did not tell me to wear orange. I color-coordinated by accident!

For those of you who have already read The Ghostly Tales of Dallas and are still hungry for more spooky stories, I have good news. My next book, The Ghostly Tales of Delaware, comes out on August 7th! Let me tell you, The First State was really fun to write about. No matter where you live, if you like reading scary stuff, this collection of creepy characters will not disappoint. The book includes ghosts, witches, haunted churches, haunted bridges, and even a swamp monster. 😲

Check out the cover:

If you can’t wait, you can pre-order The Ghostly Tales of Delaware online, and it will arrive at your door on August 7th. But if you’d like a signed personalized copy of this book, let me know and I’ll reserve one for you that you can purchase directly from me a little later in August.

In the meantime, stay cool and stay alert. Some ghosts lurk where you least expect them… 👻

Glimpse of Summer

☀️🏡🌸🐢🎣🦆

After yoga, I take a walk through the park and nearby neighborhood, listening to Ann Patchett’s collection of essays, These Precious Days, apt title for my life right now, my morning, this moment. I pass a house with such a vibrant garden of colorful blooms it rivals beds at the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center in Austin. I don’t stop, don’t take a picture, but I stroll through the perfume of the blossoms.

A few houses down, a vine with purple cone-shaped flowers twines around a decorative lamppost in a front yard. As I go by, one long tendril of vine reaches out—literally lifts and reaches away from the post. I slow and peer. Is it the wind? I don’t feel a breeze. Is there a hummingbird or squirrel playing a trick? I don’t see one. I continue walking, leaving the mystery of the reaching vine unsolved.

I turn right and cross my favorite bridge overlooking a pond bordered by the picturesque backyards of big, beautiful houses. I pause to look over at the turtles—some of them impressively large—floating below, then keep going. Soon I cross paths with two boys carrying fishing poles.

On the next block, I hit my mile and turn around. When I return to the bridge, the boys are there, fishing lines draped over the concrete wall. Cottonwood pollen fills the air, drifting down on street and poles and creek and the blond heads of two boys on a summer adventure. I walk on the other side this time, looking over at the part past the dam where the water now trickles in a shallow creek. Two ducks sit side-by-side beneath me.

It is hot out even though it’s early. I must have cut a corner somewhere because I get back to my car just shy of my two miles. I consider circling the parking lot a time or two but opt for air conditioning instead. I am done walking.

I did not take a picture, did not stop to record notes. This precious day will have to rely on my memory and my words to keep it fresh.