My old friend, Wendel Sloan, recently reminded me of a poem I wrote while we were in graduate school together in the Counseling program at East Texas State University in the 1970s. I was writing a fair amount at that time and read my poem out loud to him. He nodded his approval and encouraged me to keep writing. He was much further along the writing path than I was. He had an undergraduate degree in Journalism and wrote all the time. I was pleased that he thought my poem had some merit.

A few months later, Wendel came in one day with a book in his hand. The book was entitled, A Search of the Soul and it was published by Poetry Press. He handed it to me and said, “Look on page 24.” I was puzzled but presumed he was going to show me a piece he had written that had been published. Instead, I saw my poem on the page with my name. I looked at him quizzically and he shrugged. “I submitted it for you,” he said. “Look at the dedication.”

It read: “Dedicated to Wendel.”

Of course, that made me laugh.

That poem was the first thing I’d ever published. What a lovely and unexpected gift.

Below is the poem Wendel submitted secretly in my name. That dedication still makes me chuckle.

Dedicated to Wendel

Unfolding

Who knows how long this dream will last
O future moments and days gone past --
Blurry images of self and others
Flitting through a mind
That clouds and smothers.
Feelings aware of a slow unfolding
Of a self both pure and golden --
Hidden beneath fog and rain
Wrestling with sad stories full of pain

Len Leatherwood