I See Myself

I see myself in the stream up the mountain behind the log cabin in the

drenched living woods of the Northwest.


I see myself in the standing wheat, long and perfectly even like matchsticks.

The wheat becomes waves and I am both Midwest and west coast.

I am warm wind and misty rain.

I am the storm clouds brewing 100 miles in the distance but seen from the freshly planted snap pea garden on the edges of my uncle’s farm.


I see myself at the podium,

a lectern of waiting hopes that young minds would open and blossom.

A seed, a stalk, a leaf, a bud, an idea.

I speak and hope they listen with souls ready

to wonder anew.


I see myself in the pews, asleep as a child.

Second-home comforted by my parents loving voices

in tune and tuning,

preparing congregations.

I am loved there in stained glass sun glow. I know.


I see myself in my dreams,

fighting tigers of suggestion,

battling hopelessness,

praying in the night,

resting into the overstuffed armchairs to exhale it onto blank pages.

I see myself in characters I write, in stories come to life.


I see myself in you,

though you don’t know it.

We wait,

a sea between us,

the land etched with words in sand getting carried away.

Yet you feel and I feel.

I wear you on my heart, so don’t let go.

Just know

that you are loved and seen in me.


STEPHANIE PLATTER is a teacher, writer, film critic, and coffee lover who is getting better at battling tigers.

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