"It is such a secret place, the land of tears." 

~Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, 

and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for 

that which has been your delight."

~Kahlil Gibran

"To weep is to make less the depth of grief."  

~William Shakespeare, King Henry the Sixth

"What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul."  

~Jewish Proverb

ks

When Great Trees Fall

When Great Trees Fall
by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

M.I.A.

I know that prayer works, that energy heals

but where did ours go for Jesse?

Did it stop at the hospital's automatic doors,

too confused to get in?

Was it denied entrance at the ICU?

Couldn't it push that big square button?

Or was it all those machines and tubes

which jumbled its intended action?

And if it didn't miss its mark,

if all those thousand voices,

that huge swirl of multi-continent love 

found its way to sweet Jesse,

what did he do with it?

Who decides?

I didn't.

kelly salasin, marlboro

Gratitude

Dearest J. Julius,

I'm glad we got to know each other as adults. That sounds strange - let me rephrase it. I'm glad we got to know each other at age 19, me in my octopus T-shirt, you in your 12-piece suit, sitting together in your living room on camelbone chairs and sipping precisely the moment called for, both of us happy and young and full of love. I'm so grateful that we could share time in October when we were both doing so well; I'll always have splendid memories from that trip - you blanching endive and kale while I tuned the harpsichord in your kitchen, spending the night with Wolfgang Amadeus, your 5-foot stuffed owl, meeting your families and driving through your hometown in the glory of a late October afternoon, you pointing out the people and places that you loved, that love you still.

The last time we spoke, we had been planning to spend New Year's together. I'm sorry I ran off to California on you - I guess you ran off on us, too. The whole time this terrible thing has been happening, I've been wandering through mountains, on trains, living in cabins in distant places, unable to contact and connect with the people I love, especially you - and I suppose you were in a similar place, lost up in some distant mountain range or vast ocean, trying so hard to reach out but finding only open air and no words. I hope you could feel our love, that you still do. Like Ruth said earlier, I hope more than anything that you'll find at least one envelope not foiled by tea stains, hidden somewhere in your waistcoat with stamps and paper and pen and all - and you do, in your own way. It's true that you're gone, but you'll always be speaking through my words, moving with each of my steps, bringing people together the way you always have done with magic and grace. There is so much left here on earth that will always remind me of you, from Mozart to Lady Grey tea to our French Canadian grandmothers' meat pie. The world lost so much when you left. I am so sorry, friend.

I visited you a few days after someone had been killed in a car accident right by your house, and I remember holding your hand as we crossed the street, grasping tightly for fear of losing one another on that little Brattleboro road. I've been holding your hand close to my heart ever since, and it's hard to believe that I could ever let you go. You taught me all I know about being a gentleman, and the love and friendship that you shared so freely with those you encountered will never, ever be forgotten. I love you, Julius. Be well, and until we meet again, I remain

Forever yours,

San

A letter in many phases.

Here us the letter I wrote to you, and that Naomi read to you on Monday Night. I guess that you opened your eyes for a moment that night.

 

Dear, Sweet Jesse.

You are and will always be a soft presence. Loving, loved beloved and glowing. Your place in my families' life has been that of my own siblings. If it could help I would cover you in prayer flags, sweet songs and loving gazes. And I suppose that would help for a spell, and I hear that that is finally all the help you are getting right now. Pure, genuine and affectionate help. The help that allows your family members and friends into your room, the help that allows you to just be - scheduless and impartial to lunch or to dinner. I am so thankful for your part  in my life thus far. Your time has been so valued, so fashionably antiquated in your dapper way. So festooned in hats and laughter. I guess that it is now time to give yourself to love and to all that that entails. And we too must give our selves to love as well. I love you so and endlessly. So from this beginning starts the end and visa versa. Be well dear friend. Know that you are loved and do, lend us you patience and joy, as we shall need it throughout this next bit.

love,

Mim

 

I remember you at the Brattleboro Farmer’s Market when we were kids. You were helping Francoise sell bread. Years later I came to know as the constant visitor in our house, a friend of my sister’s and mine then our parents too. You will remain in  my mind well-attired, not in your fancy suits, but in Naomi’s pajamas. A fourth sister as it were. You and us, snuggled in and nestled down. That next morning was the last time I saw you. You ate countless eggs and pancakes, laughing over your medical-induced hunger.

 

Not being able to see you at the hospital was awful. I guess that prompted those little prayer flags. It hurts me to think about your passing, and how your parents and Harry and Naomi and those other people who were endlessly at the hospital must feel too. I’m with great people here, at a place I always assumed you’d get a chance to visit with Naomi and Ruth – perhaps over a summer. I am reminded of you so frequently dear one.

 

If I was bolder I would sing this song to you tomorrow or on Saturday, but despite everything I am not. So, here are some lines from it.

 

            “But to leave here in friendship, it cannot be wrong.

            For the silence of parting is but a rest in our song.”

Be well dear friend. You are surrounded in love and remembered with joy.

Love,

Mim

 

a letter, January 5th, 2009

I wrote this after finding out that Jesse wouldn't make the rest of the week. I imagined that he was going far away, because I can't imagine him simply being gone. 

Dear Jesse-

I wonder what you're thinking about now. I imagine your death as a great adventure. I hate this waiting and not knowing. I imagine that you are going to a hot, tropical place, to Live the rest of your days in a white canvas tent, wearing khakis and white button-up shirts with the sleeves rolled up, and a straw hat, writing your observations and sometimes poetry and sometimes sketching insects or plants or the island you have stolen away to. I imagine you reading by the yellow light of a kerosene lamp, sweating from the humidity. Reading a leather bound book, maybe, or a letter. Suddenly, we are adults, and the letter is from me, telling you about the funny people I work with, and my beautiful new cousin or niece or nephew, or even a child of my own. you are something like Darwin, conducting your observations. I imagine that you can't write back because a chimp stole your stamps, or you spilled coffee on your envelopes and they all stuck together. I imagine you at the tropical island after you have seen all the places you wanted to, and I tell you in a letter about France, and you smile at all the places I went that you went to too. 

I'm going to think of you in the library at NMH, or in Brattleboro, or with your khakis rolled up around your ankles, walking on the beach of your island. I want to remember that night at your house when we went for a walk and the winter was so beautiful and clear, or at the Marlboro Fair, having High Tea, and I liked my jam more, and you liked yours more. 

I'm sorry that I hurt you so that time, and that I said it in the library before class. I went to my room and sobbed about it afterward, I felt so terrible. 

It feels like I'm just re-reading my favorite parts of a book, before the plot darkens. All these memories of you that make it so hard to believe how weak your body is. I think that it's unfair that you were matched up with such a body. I hope you come visit me sometimes. But I understand that your research is very important to you. 

You wrote to me once that I was like a bright red cardinal against the snow, standing out from what other girls wore. you were the same way- I think we both treasure the art of self-presentation. I remember how mad you were when you got the 'Most Likely to Teach at NMH' superlative, and when we walked in the cemetery, and how you move your hands. 

I wish you could see me graduate. I wish you could see my Union Suit! I'm thinking about you all the time. I know you don't mind that I also laugh with my friends, and that I can't always criy about how much I miss you. I want to thank you for being so wonderful, and for taking care of Naomi. I'm really worried about her. Try to get your stamps back- we would all love to hear about what you're doing. 

Sweet Dreams, Dearest Jesse Lopata.

I love you, and I always will. 

-Ruth Shafer

Remember the chocolate milk Jesse? We were so giggly that afternoon on your sunlit porch, hyper as only five year old's can be when they think they are getting away with something. We drank that entire half gallon of milk and almost a full bottle of Hershey's syrup that afternoon, delighted that we were technically only supposed to have one glass a piece.

You were my first friend. One of the truest I have ever had even though most children tend not to have very god long distance relationships but we managed somehow, due in large part to our mums I think. Every year I always looked forward to the letter you would send me, even if the content was just basic Happy Birthday, they were always presented in any interesting and novel way. Some were one crazy papers, or written in overly ornate cursive with gold leafed borders and slight ink smears where you hadn't quite gotten use to the quill pen yet. And my desk has yet to recover from the year we became obsessed with making paper look antiqued. You were the only friend I have ever had who has been able to keep up with me in creating alternate realities in which we could live in character for days at a time. Wonderful, beautiful worlds that were anything and everything we wanted them to be.

I cursed the rain spring of junior year. All those days of trying to figure out how to meet up at NMH, if only for a few minutes, when I was on campus with my high school's softball team. And all those days of having to cancel and reschedule only to have the next game rained out as well. The laughing conversation we had by phone about how busy it was, the craziness that is high school, and how once senior year was over we would, somehow, find a way to see each other. Now I feel like I'm rambling, or maybe just no longer forming coherent sentences, which I always seem to do when talking or write to you. I jump from one subject to the next always assuming that you will be able to follow my printed words as easaly as you follow my train of thought when we are speaking. Therefore I will stop writing for now with a simple thank you. Thank you for opening my eyes to the world and for being yourself, which sounds corny I know. Thank you for your life
Love as always
Tess