Meet My Friend June

Blush lighting filled the crowded room as sniffles were muted behind wads of tissue. I could smell the musky perfumes like a vapor that clung to our sadness. It was an olfactory reminder of mortality,  although one also of comfort somehow. Grandma was always a couple decades tastefully behind her peers in gaining any matronly or aged qualities so the old lady stench reminded me not of her, but of her friends whom I'd come to love by proxy.

Elaborate flower arrangements of an elegance she truly deserved cascaded down iron tripods that adorned an oak podium. Behind it my distant cousin preached a sterile sermon. A Sunday sermon, at my incredible hero of a Grandma's memorial. All I wanted to hear was her voice, but since I couldn't I craved stories about her life before any of us had been around. Instead of hearing my Mom or her siblings or any other loved ones cathartically grieve their loss, we endured the church service because it was what Grandma wanted. So, we listened and my sadness fell to my toes like my pantyhose kept threatening to do if I didn't intervene.

When it finally concluded, I stood and tried to be discreet about hiking up my tights and sneaking my Mom a look that reflected frustrated sadness. One of deeper magnitude stared back at me. Dad pinched the tops of my shoulders and kissed Mom's cheek in solidarity and let us know that he and my brother would be waiting in the lobby.

I vacillated between being glued to Mom's side and making my rounds to our relatives. We exchanged tearful hugs and did our best to be strong, but the truth remained that our gentle matriarch was gone. That reality hit us in waves of sobs relieved by the exhaustion only found by loss. My Grandma was a pillar of kindness and grace unlike anyone I've ever known, although my Mom reminds me of her all the time. The loss of such a great woman was intolerable at best.

As the last stragglers forced their feet out the door, I understood their reluctance.  Once they passed the threshold of the funeral parlor her death was official. I just wasn't ready to cross over to the reality without her in it so I lingered along with Mom.

We were finally getting ready to surrender to the funeral procession marching toward the cemetery holding a headstone Grandma had picked out years prior. Just as we turned to grab our coats, my paternal Great-aunt (and Grandma's very best friend since childhood) surprised us with the hugest and most broken hugs. I felt her loss like a heavy cloud as I wrapped my arms around her waist. Even at her age she was so stunning- like an untouched Hollywood star. A tear rolled down her face as she held me at arms length and said to Mom, “I know you're getting ready to go, but I wanted to introduce you to someone.” She smiled and I saw her eyes almost sparkle.

I saw her gloved hand motion someone over from behind us. I looked at Mom and then to our new guest. A woman never short on words, I assure you I was even worse as a teen. Yet I can say with certainty that in that moment I was speechless.  My skin chilled into goosebumps and my mouth fell agape as I grabbed Mom's hand too tightly.

My Great-aunt smiled politely again and put her arm around a short woman with a thick waist. The woman's glasses were outdated by twenty years and her bulky tweed dress concealed a busty figure. The elderly woman smiled at us shyly. We waved limply, now both questioning our own sanity.

“Ladies, I wanted you to meet my friend June! She's just visiting for the day but wanted to pay her respects.” I looked to my Mom just in time to see the color drain from her face. She attempted a response but found no words to express her surprise so I made a quick save. “June, so nice to meet you.” Mom managed a “Thank you for coming…”  With a slightly more saddened smile, the woman nodded and looked to my Great-aunt who told us she would see us at the cemetery once she took June home. The women turned and made their way to the door, an elegant thin frame accompanied by an older and more sturdy build, both so distinctly familiar that neither of us could deny at whom we were gazing.

I grabbed Mom's hand once again and looked at her tear swollen eyes. Shakily I asked her, “Mom, was that…” she just shook her head in shock, saying, “I don't know honey. She looked just like… and her name was…” I saw them glance back one last time before leaving, making eye contact with Mom.

I watched her witness her own Grandmother disappear into the lobby with her mother's best friend. My Great-grandma June had died when I was six. Before the funeral we had never heard of a friend of my own Grandma with that same name, and certainly not her likeness. Yet there she was plain as day and in our very presence, at her daughter's funeral.

As spooky as it may seem looking back now, there was a comfort in seeing a woman again whom our family had so dearly loved. It was the “one more time” that victims of loss always pray for. Yet it was her silence that was startling, something Great-grandma June was never in excess of. She had an amazing laugh and always a word of wisdom or encouragement to share. But that day she had nothing but a presence that felt as temporary as a rose wilting in the desert.

I was sixteen that day and although it's been as many years since, I still can't find an explanation for what happened. It seems that no matter how much we learn in this life, there are some things we just aren't meant to understand.  

The Quarter Life Crisis

Thirty still stares at me, just from the left rather than the right now. It's like the stony face of an elegant cameo that is lovely but silent. The specialized commodity it holds has already proven to be of more wisdom, sophistication, and unpretentious simplicity. I once thought this decade would be my undoing as it brought the death of my youth. But alas, it has given me the gift of contentment.

Though I sit here confident in whom I've become and what I want for my life I'm far from having it all figured out. Last year was my initiation to this era and it was a beginning stage full of growing pains. I had one foot in the past and a hand gripping the edge of that closed door to the twenties. I tried to stay there, attempted to make it fit my new world, thoughts, outlook, body. But try as I may no new piercing or lingo could fit me back into that toothpaste tube once I had been squeezed out.

So, here I sit with a knowing smile that silently laughs at how that year must have looked from the outside and how it felt desperate in so many ways. But what I have gained is a seat at the table of women and men that fit into their own skin. We are a community of adults who have mostly gotten the wiggles out and surrender to the fact that we will never have it all figured out. The difference between us and the skins of ourselves that we have shed is the acceptance that our light shines from within. Oh what a journey it's been trying to light up our eyes, hair, asses, and smiles with things that make us shine. I'm not sure if it's travesty or brilliance that knowing the difference requires failure and pain on a level that involves dying to our very selves so that we can begin to shift into the beings we were always meant to be.

Illustrious grandeur
Is a muse hard to kill
Once she's tempted
And you have seen

All that she appears to offer

The vapor of purpose

Does any of this
Really matter?
Will our passion
Be remembered
As our imprint on history
Sinks a thumbprint deep
Or is it all for not
Moments dissolving
Like disappearing ink
Without the proper light
To display its story?
I hope some of this matters
That someone remembers
Because it hurts to imagine
That it's no more
Than sand awash in the ocean

The hardest things I've ever done
Involved dying to my own pride
Becoming meek in the presence of devastation
And strong in confidence
Of the things that matter
And make up my being
Like forgiveness
That is so vast it surpasses natural reason
The kind Jesus afforded everyone
It's strange how fighting the current
Of what we've always been taught
About self, privilege, and what we are heirs to
Is one of the hardest things we will ever do
Because the hardest things
Are a forge to make us a stronger
More beautiful
And pure
But nothing was ever transformed
Without giving up
What used to be

Sister Moon

It's cold here, but not for the reason you may think. I wait for you, and hold those who are dear and lost to you and the air loses its warmth with every passing moment. Time simply drains the burst of energy until another of my children come home. It is those days I remember when I was like them and why I have chosen to guide them through the fog. Together we watch, and we remember. I see those left behind looking for ways to hold on. It is they that pain my spirit, and I wish for the peace of closure to cover their refusal to let go. My dear, I am not a dark force as I've been painted to be, on the contrary! You may think it trite to proclaim, but I am indeed sacred, you just can't see it because those you have known and loved have lost perspective of my purpose.

Centuries ago, I was welcomed with reverence and respect. My arrival is never one desired (at least by those who remain). Yet, in the days of ritual we had an understanding. I paused, hovering over those that processed and fought so that I may embrace them with a breath of tranquility until they finally accepted my place with their lost love. You see, despite what you have been taught I do not seek to leave behind any of my children. I am their keeper in the late and sacred chapter. You cannot fathom their weariness when they come to me- you are not meant to see it. Yet you are meant to trust that they are safe with me until you can join us. None of them leaves before it is their time, but my clock is not always in sync with their own. For those that feel robbed of memories and moments I seek to help heal and realize what lies beyond as the hourglass runs out.

In days of the Vikings, there was a beauty in the departure of a boat burning into the horizon. When Egypt ruled I was welcomed only once a process of preservation was complete, and I was happy to oblige. Whether in a home surrounded by days of mourning and love, or at the foot of a pillar that finally burnt to the ashes on the ground I have always been a willing woman in waiting.

Yet here we are- me, you, and your blind denial. Why do you fear me so? When my sister pulled you into the light, the first breath you drew sealed a certainty that we would someday meet. I do not choose when I am called, I simply show up when I am beckoned. I love you as only one who dwells as an eternal guardian can. I want the most elegant, authentic, meaningful end for the significance that was your life. Whatever that looks like, I will be there as a witness and walk with you into the light that welcomes us beyond.

We have yet to meet, but my sister she tells me you are quite the beauty. She treasures your laugh and the way that those who encounter you remember your eyes that twinkle with joy. I won't get to experience this until after your final work is done but I do long to know you as a friend. As such I just wanted you to know that you needn't be afraid. Prepare for that day, but don't dwell- it won't delay or speed it along. Above all else I ask that you tell those you care about that our relationship doesn't have to be one of fear or pretending you are still there. How it pains me to see new friends painted and stitched and made to look as if my sister is still witnessing their light. It does not influence their exit, other than to make one last stance of denial that I exist.  

We will meet, my friend. But when we do I will be gentle and we will not go until you are ready. My only wish is that your monumental exodus would be infused with the sacredness and ritual that defines your magnificent self. You are so beautiful! So, remember that all that is confirmed in this life is that you will meet my sister and I, and those that surround you will hold in their memory the impact of each of these fateful events. Be sure your heart is honored, lovely, because ours is the only ritual of the two you can orchestrate- may it be as truly memorable as your heart.

I woke up today
And my arms were covered in tattoos
I picked cherries from our tree
Drove to work with last nights smoke
Still in my eyes
I danced last night
With my free bird inspiration
It felt new and old
Colorful
I felt old
And it was beautiful
The sky let go enough to breathe
Gentle drops of celebration
My chest pounded
With bass too strong
And it felt alive
The air filled with vibes
Our ears feasted on luscious sound
It was afternoon when my eyes cleared
My pants were tight
My boots high
Today I woke to my best friend
And Two dogs stretching wildly about
I looked in the mirror at my hair short
And I smiled
Because I was alive
To live last night
And greet this new day
I see color again
Im so glad I fought to be here
I forgot how glorious it feels to live

But more than that,

Thank you God 

For creating people

That make music

And others that love it

Thank you

For your tailor made love

That speaks in the many languages 

Of our hearts 

This petrichor

Is delicious

I'd endure

A thousand storms

To just breathe it in

Once more

It's been almost 15 years, and I still miss this kid a whole,whole bunch. <3 

Seems like this time of year he pops into my mind more often as I wonder who he would be today. 

It's the not knowing, and the drifting apart, the words left unspoken 

that still allow that void to hurt just a bit, even after all this time.

 But still having the gift of his words is something I'm thankful for. 

This year we're looking at the inside of 30 and although I never got to see him fulfill his abundant talents beyond 15, I know he's got Heaven vibin' up there. 

I'm not in a hurry, but I know I'll see him again :) 

Golden Memories

By Spike Sherwood

We used to play out in the rain

when we was little kids

running up n down the block when we was little kids

golden memories

take a step back and breathe

one breath at a time

cuz you don't know when ya die'n

so say your prayers often

n hit your brother soft then

if there is a God you'll be in his good grace

maybe you'll go to heaven

nobody's been to the place

but they knowits of safe

golden angel face

vice versa a disgrace

for any human race

n live a equally treated

neva defeated, well breeded, safe seated

full feeded, flaw deleted, goal meted 

always pleaded

life

life or death

its all a fucking mess

a mind scrambling 

constant gambling 

voice rambling 

clump of shit

n neva get rit of it

so sit back, n clear yer mind

n remember all the good times

vibe to ya favorite rhymes

then cry about the sad times

n hope you live a few more sun shines

golden memories should fill the mind

I thank god they do in mine

"The love of knowledge is a kind of madness."
-C.S. Lewis

The sun is orange
Rising up confidently
A sherbert globe ablaze
Amplified by the
Delicate blanket of
Murkey breath hovering over
A sleepy horizon

A Baker's Dozen

When the sun sets
And the evening rises
Forget me not

I may be gone
But don't forget
The moments that defined us

When the days fade
And the end's on the horizon
I'll forget you not