Reading, writing, teaching and loving poetry: Island teacher takes top honors in writing competition

When Devon Treharne took poetry courses while studying for her Master’s Degree in English, she wrote poetry but rarely shared her work with her classmates.

“At the time I felt intimidated and talentless among my classmates,” said Ms. Treharne, winner of the 2nd Annual Bliss Morehead Poetry Grant competition. 

Her talent is on full display in the striking artistry of her winning entry, “The Rollercoaster.”

The Shelter Island School English teacher and adviser to the staff of the student paper, The Inlet, said she was “inspired by the contest to give a piece a try, which I hope speaks to how important the grant is. The fact that the grant honors Ms. Morehead’s love of this complex genre is so special. I feel incredibly lucky to have been chosen as the winner.”

The competition is open to all East End poets to submit unpublished poems. In addition to Ms. Treharne’s winning poem, honorable mentions were awarded to Evi Kaasik, Joshua Potter and Wendy Turgeon.

An avid reader of poetry since she was a little girl, Ms. Treharne remembers “loving ‘Sick,’ by Shel Silverstein in his ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends’ collection and ‘Casey at the Bat,’ by Ernest Thayer. Both poems tell stories that made me laugh.”

Her current favorites include Mary Oliver and Kate Baer. “Both women ask hard questions and challenge assumptions in a way I find exciting,” she said.

In her classes, she teaches a variety of poets, everyone from Robert Frost to Langston Hughes to “Instagram poets” such as Rupi Kaur.

“Kids tend to think poetry is hard to understand — sometimes it is! — but it also is so wonderful to see them experience how a brief poem can use language so masterfully that it touches you,” Ms. Treharne said.

One part of poetry’s purpose is to evoke emotions in the reader, and Ms. Treharne said that “sparks great classroom conversations, because kids tend to have strong reactions” to certain poems. “In years past, I taught a poetry elective — a wonderful way for kids to experience more deeply reading poetry and writing their own.”

Asked about her winning poem, the key to her inspiration, she said, was the theme for this year, “Past and Future.” “I thought to myself: That is where I live right now,” the poet said. “I have three teenagers and we are very much in the middle of our pasts and our futures.”

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.