The Shelter Island Public Library will award this year’s Bliss Morehead Poetry Grant to Devon Treharne for her poem “The Rollercoaster.”
The theme for the contest was “Past and Future.” The library will present Treharne with the $1,000 prize during a poetry reading on Friday, April 28, at 7 PM.
Honorable Mentions go to:
- Evi Kaasik of Shelter Island for “Then & Now”
- Joshua Potter of Shelter Island for “Trading Tenses”
- Wendy Turgeon of Shelter Island for “Future/Past Tense”
Bliss Morehead was a Shelter Island poet who created the annual Shelter Island Poetry Project at the library. After she died, her husband, Mike Zisser, created the grant competition in her name in 2022. The inaugural winner was JoAnn Kirkland of Shelter Island.
Aspiring poets from the East End are encouraged to submit their original, unpublished poems on a chosen theme. Treharne, from Southold, is an English teacher at the Shelter Island School.
Irene Cornell, Charity Robey, and Virginia Walker served as judges for this year’s competition.
“The Rollercoaster”
by Devon Treharne
You scream. Desperate, primal,
“Simply Id,” Freud would say.
This sets my new mother’s heart
Thumping, breasts leaking.
“Enjoy it, time goes by so quickly,” she says.
Which part?
The insecurity? Inadequacy?
The tsks from well-meaning strangers that I forgot your hat?
This is our first outing.
I leave the groceries on the belt, you refused to be patient.
I begin to cry.
The little plastic barnyard is strewn across the rug.
It should probably be wooden, Non-toxic.
No matter. You like the red rooster. The brown pony.
You love peaches, sticky juice covers your chin,
dripping down onto your baby’s belly.
We giggle, run, play, love.
Should you be learning Spanish?
Your classmate is deaf.
You have become a pair.
You read his story:
“The rollercoaster bumped on the tracks. .
There was a scream in my throat…”
To a classroom full of wide-eyed parents.
His hand on your shoulder,
Your face scarlet.
Your classmate beams, as do I.
Tears flow weeks later.
He is moving:
What will he do without you? You ask.
With the development of the superego,
Our hearts hurt for each other, Freud would say.
You take French.
Why is it so hard?
You ask for help, you need it.
Kitchen table hours pass.
Pencils break, flashcards scatter.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I love you,” I say.
Nous sommes fatigués.
Your feet, overlarge,
Stomp down the stairs.
You grumble, “Ugh. Not that for breakfast,”
In your rush for the door.
“Take a peach!” I call. “Nah,” you mutter.
Your car keys jangle as the door slams.
I stand, alone, in the kitchen.
What comes next?
The countdown has begun.
The door will close behind you and
Time will stretch out in front of me.
Did I do ok? Will you be ok?
The future will be filled with a different type of tears,
A different type of laughter.
The sounds will echo.
