By Simmons Buntin
there is a poem for you and it may
be like this poem for my wife
who listens to a podcast and sometimes
laughs so hard her earbuds drop
and she looks at me and smiles, shares
the story of the actress and her monologue
or the man who unwittingly confesses
his most embarrassing moment on the radio
before she tucks the tiny white speakers
back into her ears. On the other side
of the table I slip into a book of poems,
sometimes nodding or clicking my tongue
in agreement before looking away
to the shelves across the room, the white
antler discovered in a saffron field,
or the photographs of my daughters
who are asleep now in their rooms,
Juliet curled beneath a quilt of flowers,
Ann-Elise bent across her black blanket,
foot draped over the bedframe, the house quiet
except for those burbling springs of laughter
and the murmur of turning pages
as I think of you again, listening or reading—
the poem paused by the person you love.
The Importance of Arts, Culture & The Creative Process
The importance of arts, culture, and the creative process is in their ability to shape our understanding of place, identity, and community. Creativity connects us—to each other, to our histories, and to the landscapes we inhabit—allowing us to see the world and ourselves with greater depth and empathy. Through storytelling, music, visual arts, and other forms of expression, we explore what it means to be human, celebrate our diversity, and imagine new possibilities for the future. Whether through personal reflection or collective action, the creative process is a vital force in building sustainable, just, and thriving communities.
What was the inspiration for your creative work?
Place, family, heritage, environmental and political urgency, beauty.
Tell us something about the natural world that you love and don’t wish to lose. What are your thoughts on the kind of world we are leaving for the next generation?
I love the wild edges of the places we call home—the spaces where urban and natural landscapes meet, where coyotes trot through neighborhoods at dawn, where rivers, even dry ones, carve their way through the heart of a city. These are the places of encounter, of resilience, where humans and the more-than-human world share space in ways both ordinary and profound. I don’t want to lose these liminal places, these reminders that the world is alive, interconnected, and always in conversation with us—if only we’re listening.
The world we are leaving is both fragile and full of possibility. It’s a world shaped by loss—of biodiversity, of stability, of places that once thrived. But it is also a world still abundant with wonder, creativity, and the potential for reconnection. I believe we owe future generations not just better policies and protections, but also the ability to imagine and create a world where balance, justice, and care for the land and each other are guiding principles. The stories we tell, the communities we build, and the choices we make today determine whether that future is one of resilience or regret.
