Two Poems in Midwestern Gothic
In Boston, I met &/or became friends with people from Brazil and Malaysia and Haiti and Greece and Mexico and Portugal... I could go on, but I won't. On the 1-milke walk from my house to the T each day, I passed the following: 1 Mexican restaurant, 1 Turkish restaurant, 1 Tibetan restaurant, a coffee shop, a creperie, 3 Indian grocery stores, a Greek pizza place, a vegan restaurant, a Chinese restaurant, a Thai restaurant, and an Irish pub. This is just on my way to Davis Square, which is known for its restaurants and shops and whatnot.
All of this to say: there are a lot of people in Boston with fascinating histories and traditions (and food!) and ways of looking at the world. As a girl from Wisconsin, I grew up eating things (usually) that came from cans or the freezer (think chicken breasts and mushroom soup and instant rice, baked). In Boston, I became mildy obsessed with trying to whittle my childhood in Wisconsin down to its barest parts. What does it mean to grow up in the Midwest, and in Wisconsin, specifically? Did I also have traditions and a history rooted in place?
I am a perfectly proportioned product of Wisconsin: I have German ancestors and Polish ancestors (and a few Bohemians, for good measure). My paternal grandparents owned a bar and resort in the Northwoods and my maternal grandparents owned a farm, and I grew up in a small suburb of a not-city-- Appleton. I have corn fields and cows in my blood. I enjoy the smell of manure. I love nothing more than driving on the highway, passing green hills dotted with red barns as the sun sets.
While living in Boston, I wrote a lot of poems about what it means to be home. What it means to be from or of a place. And it seemed that every time I picked up a lit mag or anthology and found a poem that spoke to me, the writer was a Midwesterner and usually had some tie to Wisconsin. It's an odd thing, because while I don't necessarily feel proud to be a Midwesterner, I discovered there are things unique to Wisconsin that are funny and great, and that I'm really happy to be from Wisconsin.
When my friend, Nancy Reddy, shared an interview she'd done at Midwestern Gothic's blog (which is great, you can read it here), I was excited to find a journal dedicated to Midwestern writing. The cover art of each issue is so genuinely Midwestern. Each cover feels like home. So, eventually I got around to submitting, and they took two poems: "Painting the Garage" and "Bake Sales, Anyway," which are now published in Issue 8! I'm so thrilled about the cover. It's as though someone tapped into my memory while I was dreaming and found a photo of my childhood.
All of this to say: there are a lot of people in Boston with fascinating histories and traditions (and food!) and ways of looking at the world. As a girl from Wisconsin, I grew up eating things (usually) that came from cans or the freezer (think chicken breasts and mushroom soup and instant rice, baked). In Boston, I became mildy obsessed with trying to whittle my childhood in Wisconsin down to its barest parts. What does it mean to grow up in the Midwest, and in Wisconsin, specifically? Did I also have traditions and a history rooted in place?
I am a perfectly proportioned product of Wisconsin: I have German ancestors and Polish ancestors (and a few Bohemians, for good measure). My paternal grandparents owned a bar and resort in the Northwoods and my maternal grandparents owned a farm, and I grew up in a small suburb of a not-city-- Appleton. I have corn fields and cows in my blood. I enjoy the smell of manure. I love nothing more than driving on the highway, passing green hills dotted with red barns as the sun sets.
While living in Boston, I wrote a lot of poems about what it means to be home. What it means to be from or of a place. And it seemed that every time I picked up a lit mag or anthology and found a poem that spoke to me, the writer was a Midwesterner and usually had some tie to Wisconsin. It's an odd thing, because while I don't necessarily feel proud to be a Midwesterner, I discovered there are things unique to Wisconsin that are funny and great, and that I'm really happy to be from Wisconsin.
When my friend, Nancy Reddy, shared an interview she'd done at Midwestern Gothic's blog (which is great, you can read it here), I was excited to find a journal dedicated to Midwestern writing. The cover art of each issue is so genuinely Midwestern. Each cover feels like home. So, eventually I got around to submitting, and they took two poems: "Painting the Garage" and "Bake Sales, Anyway," which are now published in Issue 8! I'm so thrilled about the cover. It's as though someone tapped into my memory while I was dreaming and found a photo of my childhood.
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