By Robert "Bob" Bussey
Faith Tupper, was born and raised in CenLa. She is a Pineville native, born at Rapides Regional Hospital. She’s a high school teacher … Senior Level English … at Pineville High, her alma mater. She is married with 3 kids. One her own. The other two came with the marriage. Those two were subsequently formally adopted by her since their birth mother had passed away. We will get to the effect of that situation once we dive into her poetry. Faith writes in Free Verse. She finds that she is able to convey the emotional moment or situation better via Free Verse. She has been published in Verbatim, the LSU-A poetry publication several times. She, like many others, started to dabble in poetry in high school but she did not share her earlier work. In college she was encouraged to write and develop her poetry skills.
She told me that she wants her poems to give life to a moment or a fleeting feeling. She asks, “Am I alone in this feeling?” Her poems are both personal (1st person) and also 3rd person (she tries to place herself inside someone else and view the world from their perspective.) Some of the poems speak about intimate, very personal, experiences. Sometimes they arise from the perspective of empathy for another. Most of her poetry is written in a happenstance situation since she is so busy with 3 kids. Her phone is full of notes and she just hopes that she can get back to those notes to put something down on paper. Lucky for us she has done so in multiple occasions. Some of her work is written quickly, others take days. It all depends on what is happening around her. (Remember those 3 kids.) On occasion, but not always, she will let a poem marinate in the subconscious and then go back to it to add lines or edit what is already down on paper.
As I reviewed her work, and after I interviewed Faith, I realized that the marital and parental situation she found herself in had a lot of impact of the poems that she sent to me for review. Faith did not know her current husband or his wife when they were married. Her husband’s wife lost her life at a very young age, but after she had given her husband 2 beautiful children. Faith found him as a father of 2 after this wife passed away. Faith walked into the relationship with open eyes, and with the realization that she has going to be stepping into the role of the mother of these two young children, and that she was going to have many, many experiences with them that their birth mother would never have. That situation comes out in several of the poems that Faith sent to me. So let’s dive in. The first poem is set out below, and, yes, it is about how Faith is the mom who has taken on the task of raising these two children from a woman who has left this earth. The poem was written sometime in 2023.
An Old-Fashioned Two Moms
I hear the whispers –
the ones that prick my soul
“She’s not really her mom.”
“That’s not her real mom.”
Whatever the variation –
that bittersweet half-truth.
I didn’t carry you for nine months:
But I had you in my hopes long before I held you.
I wasn’t there for your first steps’
But I’ve helped you find your way.
I wasn’t there for the goo-goo-ga-gas’
But I’ve swelled with pride when you’ve confidently found your voice.
I may not have taught you to color in the lines;
But I’ve shown you new shades of every color.
You came to me scared.
But I’m watching you find your wings to soar.
I didn’t need the paper. No.
You made it official
when you named me momma.
The poem, in case you were wondering, was written for the oldest of the two children, the daughter that Faith adopted. You can see both moms in the poem. The one lost, and Faith. It portrays what the birth mom was able to experience and now what Faith has the pleasure of carrying forward. The poem also sets out quite clearly the emotional elation that Faith received when her adopted daughter, Gracee, eventually called her “momma.” I think there is also an underlying current of “love” in the poem. While the word “love” is not used in the poem, you can just sense it in the words … “I’ve swelled with pride … I’ve shown you new shades of every color … I’m watching you find your wings … and, I didn’t need any paper.” That, to me, is love.
Let’s move on. The next one is about the many variations of “Close.” She writes this one in the third person or from the perspective of another person. Faith is not in this one. Her sister-in-law had closed on her house. (She sold it.) Her husband had died. Another real estate closing happens in the poem and also deals with death.. the death of a young child. And, then there is that third “closing”… death, suffering, grief that lurks around interior of the 2 houses that were sold.
Close
The house closed today.
It was the last place air filled your lungs—
Now just a jarring memory.
The walls hold our joy
But also our great loss.
Closing that door for the last time…
The last place your were—
The last place you smiled—
The last place you cooked—
The last place I smelled you—
The last place I heard you—
The last place I held you.
Closure …
I don’t know if that’s a real thing—
For this gaping hole you left.
But oh, your legacy lives on
In those who loved you close
and afar.
I keep you close
In my heart.
The house closed—
The chapter that I never wanted to close.
Your laugh won’t decorate these new walls.
Your memory won’t be there.
But you will forever be with me.
Forever you will be mine.
Forever I’ll keep you close.
The poem intertwines both of the deaths in each stanza. Dying, leaving this earth, involves “last breaths, last places, last smells, gaping holes, last laughs, and also involves memories of those left behind to hold dear. The feeling of loss is conveyed throughout the
poem, which I believe was the intent of the poet.
The next poem, “Magic,” was a real event. Faith, and the rest of her family, are in it. I initially thought the poem was about some past events, maybe about death again, or the end of a relationship. (it came and went … empty chairs.) But it’s about the whole family catching the flu over the Christmas Holidays one year. Yeah, 2 adults and 3 kids in one house, all with the flu at the same time. Images of sugar plums do not dance in my head. But the poem is also about the “magic” that is still there even in time of sickness. Her eldest daughter, Gracee, had mentioned throughout the whole time that they were all sick that even though they were all sick with the flu, they would all be together, and it would still be magic. So the poem ends up with a positive outlook on life. (I bet they got flu shots after that Holiday season.)
Magic
“Tis the season
It came and went.
It looked different.
It felt different.
There were empty chairs.
There were holes.
The magic was,
But it was different.
The were sniffles
And coughs.
And medicine cups
Filled the sink.
Packages were late.
Packages were lost.
Packages were opened.
Tis the season
It came and went.
That is for sure.
Just as time marches on.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
The magic was,
It was different.
For some
It was in Christmas past.
For some
It was in the hope of the future.
For many
It was in the different.
Tis the season
As time marches on.
New traditions will come to life
As we smile on the ones of the old.
Those empty chairs
Will be
Just as the magic
Will be
Different
But it
Will be.
The next poem goes back to the adopted children, this time the adopted son and the loss of his biological mother. It’s Free Verse, in case you were wondering. It’s his twelfth birthday. Faith has had and will have more birhdays with him than his biological mom. This one gives, to me, insight into the kind of person Faith is. She feels deeply, very deeply. She recognizes that God has given her a chance to experience things that would have belonged to another mother, and she will, to the best of her ability, make those things good, make them great. She will do those things, not just for herself (although I have a feeling she would have under different circumstances) but also for the mom who is no longer with us. She feels a debt to that mom, a passion for that mom, a gratefulness for that mom that plays out every time she looks at one of her two oldest kids.
Twelve
It is his 12th birthday.
His 8th with me.
You had 4.
I never take it for granted
That I am the one
Who gets to wake his
Smiling face up with donuts
And decorate the house
For him.
I promise I think of you
With every ballon and streamer
Every piece of tissue paper
Stuffed in a bag
That holds a treasure for him.
Grief is funny.
I never knew you,
But I grieve for you
In these moments—
Thankful for them
Holding them tight.
Knowing…
That bittersweet reality
That this wouldn’t be
If you were here.
The next poem was written about a family member who was going through a divorce. It is in third person. Faith is not in it. I think you can feel the anger, the despair. It’s also a healing poem. Divorce is a time of change, a time of new beginnings and the ending of old habits, life patterns, old routines.
Rearranging
You rearrange the room
You once shard with …
Chaos.
You rearrange your life
You once shared with …
Denial.
You rearranged for peace.
Because you wrapped
Your nights in denial.
And painted a picture with
Fabricated images while
Likes and comments framed it nicely.
Changed.
That’s what the claim
Was all those years ago.
After actions changed others.
Innocence stolen.
Gone.
Changed.
By now.
Now is the time
You decide
To change
To rearrange.
At least the choice is yours.
Rearranging.
Changing.
Healing.
The next poem is about having a miscarriage. What are the emotions that you go through? Were you a mom as soon as you found out you were with child? Did you have an emotional connection to the fetus well before it was born? Did you have dreams about first steps, first words, first hugs, as you carried the unborn child? Did you have all those things, and more, only to have the child lost, leaving the child in some biohazard container and without even the smallest of funerals where you could grieve? Can you relate? Read it, then read it again.
Miscarried Love
You stop …
Not wanting to get in the car
(Wishing your could stop time)
Not wanting to go for your are the admitting
This is happening and goodbye is coming.
So close—
Then so fast.
Gone.
Your think about the holidays,
The kisses,
The Sweet handprints,
Those first wobbly steps and
That recognized smile.
You think about the sweet distinct smell
And those middle of the night feedings
You think about holding your heart—
Your world—
In your arms.
Grasping your aching abdomen,
“If I don’t go, it’s not real.”
Tears flowing.
You ache to hear the persistent cries
To clean muddy footprints of the freshly mopped floors
Or to admire in frustration a mural on the wall.
The doctor comes in
Compassionate, but
No matter who many times he’s done this
He will never understand the rush of emotions in the moment he says,
“I’m sorry…”
No one quite understands’
That even if you were weeks along
You were already in love.
Your world had already changed.
You were a mother, now
A childless mother
Without even a grave to visit
Without even the world to mourn with you.
Empty—is the only feeling
Maybe some misplaced guilt wrapped in the question “why”
But empty overshadows it all.
Leaving—
Leaving your heart is some biohazard contaianer
When our arms should be full.
Empty.
Lost.
Shattered.
Empty.
No one misses your baby like you.
No one felt the bond
The love
The dreams
Like you did.
There’s nothing anyone can do or say
There’s not even a way for you to express how you feel
All that’s left is an empty womb
And
A full heart of miscarried love.
I will leave you with “The Look.” Read it and ponder its meaning. Place upon it your own experiences and emotions. Can you place yourself in the poem?
The Look
Tonight,
I cry for the good times.
I weep for the laughs.
I weep for the smiles,
For the winks exchanged.
Those telling looks
Only for us…
Tonight,
For once,
I was sad,
Lonely.
Missing.
Tempted,
But resilient.
Tonight I missed you.
Correction,
I missed the you
I once knew
Which was a shell;
A façade.
No, tonight
I missed the idea of you.
I missed the idea of all
The good;
All the laughs.
The telling looks
Only for us…
Tonight, I missed it all;
That is between me and the future.
Flirting with the stars,
I know you are somewhere.
Tonight,
“I am thankful to be missing that piece; For it meant I have not settled.”
Exclaims my heart to the moon,
With that wink…
That telling look
Only for us…
Faith goes faithfully to a gym every morning during the work week at 5 am. Teachers have to do that to get to work on time. She also paints a little. I’d like to see some of her work. She reads. She goes to her kids’ sporting events. She goes on vacations when she can. And she writes. I hope she keeps writing. I like what she writes. I hope she continues to put her poems out into the public realm. It will do her good and the rest of us good. Most of all, I hope she continues to be the great mom that I have come to know she is. Her poems reflect a giving personality, one that we can all aspire to emulate. While she discusses grief she does not wallow in it and often is able to convey the grief of others, not just herself. I get tired of what I call “Grief Poetry,” but Faith’s description and use of grief is on a different level.
Robert Bussey is a local attorney and poet who has resided in CenLa since 1986. He interviews other poets and then writes these articles to help promote poetry. You can reach him at Rlbussey450@icloud.com if you are a poet and would like to be interviewed.
