Dear LIstfriends,
Now that I have been able to rest up a bit after the World Parkinson's
Day program here in Maine, I am gardening and enjoying spring sunshine.
Life and death are so intertwined. I was looking at the purple crocuses
that I put in last year, on the grave of my kitty, Celie, who lost her
life in the August, 1996 fire at my house.
I felt like writing a tribute to her, and the poem below is what came
out.
Ivan
Purple Crocuses
Celie died in the guestroom.
I found her quieted body,
lifeless beneath the blackened
maple bed that traveled with me
since childhood.
She is resting quietly now,
behind the tall white pine.
The old green apple tree
leans protectively over her.
Out of the dead oak leaves
that have dropped upon her grave,
purple crocuses burst through
two weeks ago.
Interlaced over her grave
are old, clay firebricks,
weakened by Winter's frosts,
and red chimney bricks,
cemented by clumps of moss.
These are remnants of a house
that stood long, long ago,
where now there are only woods.
The purple crocuses will soon fade
and wither. They will slump
against their slender, iris-like leaves.
Her sister and I survived the fire.
-Ivan Suzman
April 15, 1998
Portland, Maine
