The Feminine
For Laura
A poem by Rhonda Chittenden
One night
you will sit with me
on the back patio
under the oak tree
and starlight
by the warming fire
and you will tell me
what it was like
to be told
that metastatic breast cancer was growing in your highly intelligent
compassionate
witty brain.
You will tell me
what you said
to God
in the days following
that news.
(“Pretty shitty deal,” says your brother.)
We will sit
by the fire
under the oak tree
and stars
and sip
sweet and spicy tea
while telling stories
from the mid-90s Queer Corner and how we miss Holly Ho-bag. I will tell you
how beautiful you look
in seafoam green
something I didn’t know
while you were alive
but only noticed
while studying
the dozens and dozens
of photos
of you
on Facebook.
Then things will turn
super serious.
You will describe
what it was like
to say
goodbye
to a parade of people
to take
the last breath
and then no more breaths
as you flew away
and where to?
You’ll tell me that too.
You will tell me:
What is it like to be dead?
Is it true about the light?
Were you greeted by the ancestors?
Do you divide your time between Canada and Iowa now? Do you even experience time now?
Have you met Jesus?
If so, is he as kind as they say?
Did you get a selfie with him
because that kind of thing could knock white folks down a notch to see that he isn’t white.
Are you a ghost?
An angel?
Do you watch over your sons,
an ethereal and ultimate
helicopter parent?
Can you read my thoughts?
Do you know how much I miss you,
that I don’t even accept that you’re dead?
Was that you
in my bathroom
the night I was delirious
with fever?
Were you the owl
calling
at my bedroom window
last night
calling and calling
or was it laughing
or crying
stirring my soul
as your name
flew from my mouth?
Oh, Laura!
We still have
too much to talk about for you to be gone!
Stephanie and Stacie
are coming over
on the 16th.
Heading towards Halloween the veil
between us
will be thinning.
We will make an altar for you.
Please join us
and tell us
everything
we need to know.
by Rhonda Chittenden
