Young Writers Project is a creative online community of teen writers, photographers, and artists, based in Vermont since 2006. Each week, VTDigger features the writing and art of young Vermonters who publish their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth 12-18 years old. To find out more, visit youngwritersproject.org, or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; 802-324-9538.

“The lighting on this water was really beautiful and serene yesterday, and in real life you could see that the trees were just on the brink of foliage, like time was holding those fiery colors just out of the mountains’ reach.” — ***Elise Cournoyer, 13, at Gillett Pond in Richmond.***

Identity is intersectional: It is our birthplace, the roles we play around our loved ones, and the passion project we feed every Saturday afternoon. It is also the culture we wrap ourselves in — flannel included. This week’s featured poet, Elise Cournoyer of Richmond, may not have herself entirely pinned down yet, but the lively spirit of the Green Mountain State has found a permanent home inside her.

To Be a Vermonter

By Elise Cournoyer, 13, of Richmond

Our grandpa’s flannel, red and black, will cross
and blend in wrinkled smiles, passed
through generations. We’ve just hobbled
over the peak, and the red leaves march
down, down, down the mountain with us.
Because I’m still figuring out who I am.

Touching my tongue to the frost-nipped
metal, tasting the syrup-to-be.
I’ll laugh when the first snow lands on
my nose and catch the rest in my flannel.
Because I’m still figuring out who I am.

When the Southerners trolley up and
shiver, I’ll make a barefoot snow angel.
Then, out of courtesy, I’ll hand them
my extra puffy jacket — I’ve got one too many.
Because I’m still figuring out who I am.

I’ll chop wood myself, and it won’t matter
that I’m a girl, because we’re all real tough
anyway. Then I’ll light a fire and chug some
hot cocoa with two jumbo marshmallows.
Because I’m still figuring out who I am.

The seasons will pass through, and I’ll
tie my hair in two braids. I won’t bother
with the outlets in the city more than
I need to. And if I do, I’ll make a trip out of it.
Because I’m still figuring out who I am.

We’ll dance around the fire and sip pure syrup
and laugh at the leaf peepers and brandish
our flannel and catch snowflakes on our
tongues like magic, and we’ll smile. I’ll smile.
Because I’m a Vermonter, after all.