I’d bet old women wear shawls.
For the comfort.
When you’re old
And have seen so much, so many pass
Leaving you behind
The comfort of a shawl is immediate
And all you can hold to yourself
Plus you get cold easy
And the shawl helps
Especially if it’s black
And super soft and from Sweden.
Edith said in her note she would be okay
Despite having just retired
As an AIDS nurse
And then being diagnosed
With cancer in her breast.
Did she have to die in October?
Is falling away
Orange yellow red leaves and pink ribbons
And I didn’t know.
There are people in your life
Who are part of your architecture.
You don’t need to see them
Just to know they are
In their lives, happily
Receiving grey hair and grandchildren.
It’s as if they are weight bearing beams
Holding your being in place.
So when you get a call from her husband
That she’s gone
And you didn’t know,
All that weight collapses.
The worse way.
If only I’d pushed harder and gotten her version of the story
Calling David “The Ultimate” and capturing forever her signature
“I kill you a thousand times”
And that laugh.
But I didn’t.
I generally don’t believe in regrets
But in this case,
They might be in order.
Edith, where ever we go
And you have gone,
I hope they are there with you,
Keeping you warmer
Than the best shawl ever.
One thought on “Edith”
A beautiful tribute, MK. Thank you for sharing it.
Until I got to the particulars, I thought it was a poem you found that fit with your feelings about your new shawl.
My sympathy on the loss of your friend. What a legacy she leaves.