The Farewell

The Farewell

Afterwards I photographed roses

in my friend Maureen's garden,

drank black coffee on her deck, 

and showed her my new Tarot pack

(called Everyday Witch)

because it's light-hearted.

            *********

It was a kindly Memorial.

We were glad we went.

The cemetery was peaceful

with its lawns and trees

and flowers growing,

and the flowers people brought.

Maureen laid our bunch, gently, 

under a spreading tree

in the shade.

I hugged various old friends

I hadn't thought to see there.

Penelope's reach

into the community

was one-on-one with each of us.

None of us needed to say 

anything to each other – 

knowing the depth of love

in every connection with her:

impossible for anything less.

Death makes us all poets! Many

had written poems for her

after she died. They were read.

Several of us wept. Yet all of us had

certainty that she was now

with God, and happy.

When we toasted her,

we instinctively raised our glasses 

high, in celebration, to the sky.

There was no anguish,

even though we so loved her.

(There was some shock. Too young ...

and doesn't yet feel gone.)

We sang, we reminisced,

standing or sitting around

as the sun grew warmer

and the morning moved on.

A morning in early Spring,

in a glade. A good time, good place
for one who had given herself 

the email name of Artemis – 
who, wise and deep as she was,

kept the girl in herself alive.

And now she's dead? 
Twenty-odd years

and at least one other lifetime 

of friendship suddenly over? No. 

Never have I felt more assured

that the soul is eternal.

            *********

Knowing her life might not be long

she had written us all a letter,

trusted to a friend who was executor,

for when this time came:

telling us that our love

gave her power to see the light.

It goes both ways, Penelope –

you in whom we, fortunate, rejoice!

I took this photo back in 2001, but life didn't greatly alter her appearance.