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The Beautiful Magic Of Death And Life
An imayo poem
My life’s been shaped by much death, both lovers and friends
Throwing clay on potter’s wheel, art erupts from voids
Grief of living left to mourn, yet the dead rejoice
Never forget Julie’s face, smiling as she saw.
I have had the pleasure to spend time recently with the terminally ill friend of a friend. This poem came to me while she and I chewed deep shit in the kitchen, and I pounded some wine.
Specifically, I recounted to her what I had the pleasure of seeing as the first family member to arrive at my grandmother’s apartment many years ago, even before my mother, who called me first after she received the call from the nurse, much to my sister’s chagrin.
I then shared with Chelsea this post by (she long ago stopped posting) that I cite wherever it fits:
My friends and regular readers will understand the life experiences that I encapsulated in the imayo — four twelve-syllable lines, with a pause after seven…
