Heather Stewart Poetry

When I was much younger, I read Stephen King’s On Writing. I had always been an avid reader, but that was the first time it really occurred to me that reading was important to writing. It has since been it’s own struggle. Life got in the way a lot, still does sometimes, but something else happens. Something he also mentioned.

It’s great to read and be aware of your own genre, but inspiration can come from anything at all. My most recent poems came from idea that were in Brujas: The Magic and Power of Witches of Color by Lorraine Monteagut. There’s a place where she mentions speaking to our ancestors is like a confession. I had to stop reading and let it sit.

The idea is preceded by a chapter on ancestral curses and the generational trauma that many of us live with. Funny enough, I had also read a book this year that focused on generational trauma, which was It Didn’t Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle by Mark Wolynn. Given what I learned from that book, that thought of working through the trauma and curses through confession to our ancestors just felt poetic.

Between the writing I’ve been doing recently and the reading on different spiritual practices over the years, I’ve just been in a place where I’m trying to reach through my roots like a tree and remember what my ancestors learned.

It’s strange to think about what spiritual practices or traditions might be in my blood. I’m American, but I have Cuban and European heritage. Between the two, I end up with superstitions, practices, and intuition that lends to different forms of Christianity along with several threads of witchy traditions. It’s a little insane to put that word on it, but it’s just true. The superstitions that go along with being a sailor for 20 years don’t exactly help me be less superstitous either. It’s one of those things that weren’t passed down or taught for many reasons that leave me feeling like I have to discover what those things are for me, which is where the idea of confessing my ignorance to the ancestors who probably tried to teach me those things in their own way is so powerful.

After sitting with it all, this is what I wrote:

I confess 

I didn't stop it 
Start it 
Take part 

And yet 

It didn't make me guilty 
At fault 
Repentant 

Sometimes it makes me angry 
Vengeful 
Indignant 

Mostly, I am more than the things I've done 
Regret 
Would do differently 

There’s been so much more coming out lately on my spiritual journey and how it interacts with my place in the world, but we’ll see if that turns into the next collection. As it is, my first one still in the pre-published stage of not sure when things are happening, but they are happening.