thx ref - I went to the "wake" yesterday run by her two brothers. My friend, Karen, was a poet and I read one of her poems at the wake. In memory of Karen, I'll post it here:
Blood Red Nails I saw you look
At my blood red nails
And how they echo
My lips
I know it is but a
Glance as we sit
Me knowing full well
This will go nowhere
The ambered tones
Of your voice tunnel
Into me through me
Refracting musical time
I hold your eyes
But they’re flickering low
I try my hardest
Not to look any longer
The red tip of my cigarette
Slips into my espresso
I wish it could soothe the
Burning rush that I feel
I walk out and away
My tears slice across
Windy night skies
Gelid stars on my cheeks
Back down the halls
In my room they thaw and
Spill into the paint on my page
I tear the page into pieces
But I saw you look
At my blood red nails
And how they echoed
My lips
I badged Karen's poem in hopes that it will give it more visibility. I take comfort in the fact that the things we create usually out last us and continue to impact people. As you know, we are moving in to a new home. So far, we've only moved a few things in to it, one of which is a chair that I inherited from my friend Ralph who was also a poet. Yesterday, I sat alone in that chair and thought about Ralph. He once gave me the advice to create, create, create -particularly any sort of art. He came to the act of creating art late in life and wished he hadn't waited so long. I took comfort in Ralph's poetry when he died, it's nice when our loved ones leave us behind these treasures. I'm sorry for your loss Lil and I'm glad you shared Karen's poem, I enjoyed reading it. I'm curious what you make of the poem. Unrequited love/lust? I hope your days are getting better and I wish you the best with your daughter.
You're right. The poem is full of longing, passion and rejection, but I wanted to show two other things in the poem when I read it at the wake. 1) the passionate heart symbolized by the blood red nails
2) the way Karen was multi-talented in both painting and words and the way she turned the tears into art. Yes, she tore the page into pieces -- but the poem, another page, survived. Thank you for your thoughts and memories and comments about Ralph.