My friend Diane died today. That trumps anything else I might blog. I wrote her a memorial poem in April, when she was clearly losing ground to Parkinson's disease. I changed it a little tonight and posting it here seems right since it's about my life and loss more than poetry.


Ventured

Last year your goal
was a hole in one,
only person I know
who ever came close.

When I offered to help
with a heavy suitcase
you glared, I'm fine
and held on tight.

You pointed at the top
of steep hill behind cabin.
I would have been the first
one up there. Tears welled.

You skied Olympic slopes,
sailed turbulent seas,
swam with giant turtles,
let love turn you around.

You danced in the rain,
sang down the moon,
painted in flowers,
fuschia, aqua, magenta.

You always knew
strength is vulnerability,
vulnerability, strength.
You showed both.

You were not ready
to lose body, voice, life.
I am not ready to
to forget the music of you laugh.

Your legacy is a naked heart.
I cleaned out the
hall closet and threw
away an armful of umbrellas.