Jenelle

Jenelle,

When we were younger, you wrote haikus. I did too. We put them in a book, and drew colored pencil pictures of alligators and aliens, and all the other characters in our stories.

I thought, “This is good writing – two sets of poems, together in one place.”

When we were teenagers, you wrote a college admissions essay about your accident. I loved the beginning, when you described yourself as a goldfish, but you cut that part, and got right to Friday, September 13, 2002; right to you soaring 20 feet into the air.

I thought, “This is good writing – bold, edited, refined.”

When we were young women, you wrote a poem about yourself and a boy. It was in your journal - I’m sorry, I read it. Your words were ripe with allusions to Shakespeare, Greek mythology. You were a Siren with teal painted fingernails, luring a foolish sailor in to crash on the rocks.

I thought, “This is good writing – mature, honest, self aware.”

When we were younger, you wrote a story about a firebird. You only finished the first half. It was severed at the middle, just as there was trouble in the forest, leaving me painfully curious about what happened next.

I thought, “This is good writing – I wonder what the rest will be.”