Painting by me-1992. Longingly gazing out a window at Portsmouth, NH. The tumultuous water of the Piscataqua River, is a reflection on how I feel about leaving my hometown. The sparse surrounding reflects the emptiness I feel in my new surroundings. My cat and my books comfort me in times of loneliness and despair-the red flower brings color to my drab life.

MY MIND’S JOURNEY

I will always have this sense of home in my heart-

Of emptiness and melancholy when we’re apart.

In thought, I journey home everyday,

Now I live hundreds of miles away,

As a child I never thought I would-

Be homesick for my old neighborhood.

The town druggist was very well know-

For his jimmy-topped ice cream cone,

Pennies could buy you a bag of sweets,

Tasty confections this sack of treats.

The hot dog cart was fined everyday-

For parking in a restricted zone (this hot dog café)!

A well-known person biked through the town-

With a folksy wave for all around.

(Off) in the distance, I heard a tugboat,

Near the port, I could see it afloat,

Tugs escorted big ships through the tideway (away from the shore),

On the great Piscataqua River, (that holds tales of folklore).

The redolence from the salty breeze,

Blew so gently, it was sure to please,

Past sandbars fishing boats made headway,

A rousing sight this did portray.

At the South Playground, I’d swing as high as a jet-

I played so hard; I worked up a sweat,

Heading to Pierre Island to swim in the pool,

With bathing capped head, I strived to get cool.

Snow veiled the earth; it glittered and glistened,

Lulled by the crystal sights calmly I listened,

The silence was deafening, but I could only hear-

The sound of my heartbeat pit-a-patting in my ear.

Winters were harsh with plenty to do,

Skating on (frozen) puddles till the early curfew,

Cold were the nights the days just the same,

A picture in mind, a picture I’d frame.

Thoughts of this town leaves me void and sad,

(Envious) of others sharing what I once had,

(In thought) I journey to Portsmouth everyday,

Now I live hundreds of miles away.

–Elizabeth Fecteau-Woodward (1991)

My Mind’s Journey-Missing my Hometown. I painted this picture around 1992. The poem, written by me in 1991.

I never said I was an artist or a poet, just something I enjoyed doing.