Happy Easter (with Easter Bunny,) Poems in Presence (Elegy for Martha Silano,) and Mortality with Cherry Blossoms

Possible Easter bunny?

Happy Easter (with Easter Bunny)

Hello and Happy Easter to those who celebrate! This is the first Easter in recent memory to have a bright, sunshine-y, warm day on this day of rebirth, even though this one seems early? This was the first day since my trip I felt energetic enough to get up to much, so we went to the Seattle Japanese Garden to see what was blooming. It’s still early spring, so we did see camellias, azaleas, and some early magnolias, but to cheer us, there was: 1) a possible Easter bunny, 2) many turtles with their heads out, 3) a very large frog, and 4) many ducks and geese, which felt very seasonally appropriate. We spent Saturday night getting into the Easter spirit by watching Jesus Christ Superstar (tradition!) and making Easter cookies. The post is getting more serious after this, so just prepare.

Presence in daffodils

Poem in Presence – Elegy for Martha Silano

I was very proud to be in good company in Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry, with an elegy for my late friend, Martha Silano. Besides our mutual friends Ronda Broatch and Kelli Russell Agodon, I was happy to see my former professor Don Bogen’s work in that section (who was an editor at Cincinnati Review). I still miss Marty palpably, and it seems appropriate for her memory to be celebrated in this season of resurrection and rebirth, among daffodils. How many characters in mythology go to the Underworld to bring a friend back? None of them were successful, a reminder of even legendary heroes’ mortality. Maybe the internet is our new way to keep out loved ones immortal.

Here’s a peek at my poem, “Internet-Age Elegy: After You Die, I Promise Not to Forget You:”

Mortality with Cherry Blossoms

Having just returned from a visit to Cincinnati for my dad, who is very ill, I was also confronted with other reminders of mortality: a visit down to UW for more testing for me, a good friend’s longtime partner passing away suddenly, other friends dealing with aging and ill parents. April is the cruelest month, right? I am turning 53 at the end of the month, reminded that exactly ten years ago I was told I had barely six months to live, and then was diagnosed with MS a little bit later. I am lucky to still be standing, as it were. My dad and I used to joke “Every day above ground is a good day.” Not sure where we got that. Two cross-country flights and the visit took a lot out of me, more than I expected—I had to spend two or three days in bed, caught a stomach bug, and couldn’t really walk for a bit (MS + virus = increase in symptoms). Yes, we all have limitations. Some of my friends slipped away from me in the last year, some with long-term illnesses, some, like my friend’s partner this week, suddenly, in sleep. When I saw my old friends and family back in Ohio, I was reminded that we are all aging; one old high school friend has already had three heart attacks—my older brothers are starting to think about retirement. I am the age I strongly remember my grandmother being when I considered her “old.”

Late camellia in my yard

So yes, it is important to celebrate this strange season when people can disappear but the earth reminds us that disappearance isn’t final—a flower that hasn’t bloomed for years suddenly shows brilliant blooms. I realized I was in a hurry to get my next book published so that my dad might be able to see it, although I can’t pressure publishers for this reason any more than I could when I thought I had six months to live. Poetry is a slow business, my friends. To go back to the garden with the metaphor, you can spend a lot of money and time on seeds that don’t take, trees that a careless lawnmower kills in infancy. The cherry blossoms and daffodils and birds will return whether I am there or you, whatever losses we face. Poetry has an uncertain lifetime as well; some poems will live beyond our lifespans, perhaps, although our voices and styles will almost certainly fall out of fashion (see H.D. or Edna St. Vincent Millay—how many kids today are reading them?) But we keep writing and sending our work out into the world. We do the business of living and try not to despair at the news or the difficulties of our little mortal lives—we do our best to enjoy the blue skies and pink cherry branches.