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“Who am I?” we ask ourselves from a young age – perhaps every year, perhaps every day. The inherent need to pinpoint our own identity often forces us to dig down deep, an experience that North Bennington poet Martha Hutcheson is familiar with and shares this week. In meditation on her dualities of self, mind-body relationship, and smallest joys, she eschews a human tendency to focus on the negative only: a gentle reminder we should treat ourselves kindly along our own journeys too.
Who am I?
By Martha Hutcheson, 12, of North Bennington
I am light made from the darkest shadows,
a pessimist made of the most optimistic qualities.
I am spring rain on an ocean that is calm and torrential both.
I am the scent of sweet candles in warm bubble baths with steam and soothing salts.
I see emotions on people’s faces,
I read them when they aren’t reading me.
I look between their eyes and somehow know
who they are. Or at least a small shadow of them.
I am an observer, a quietly sarcastic, emoji-using younger sister,
a spontaneous dancer, and a short-tempered girl.
When I look in the mirror, I see my few dark freckles,
and the lines where my glasses are all day,
and my brownish hair and my dark eyes.
And I see uncertainty and loneliness too.
I cannot survive without laughter. Who can?
And when tiring beachy days mix with warm, soft nights, and cozy sheets,
and hot mornings and bare feet and aquariums and cousins and banana bread,
I will be there, drinking milk and most likely smiling.
This combination of things will be where you find me, happy.
Who am I? Honestly, I can’t tell.
But if you meet me, you might find me searching the place between your eyes,
trying to figure you out.
