We hope you had a peaceful time in PR.
Here is a picture of our tribute to Lizzy on our
Christmas Tree. See you soon.
Love, Mary, Steve, Cook and Nick
from Nicholas Alciati
I carried a blue plastic dinosaur in my pocket today.
That dinosaur traveled with me to Poughkeepsie to student teach.
That dinosaur ate my awful fast food lunch with me.
That dinosaur was in my pocket when I did a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg today.
That dinosaur was with me when I had the usual hummus and pretzel dinner.
That dinosaur was with me when I sat in my room listening to the Garden State soundtrack remembering the time we sang every song on the railroad tracks.
That dinosaur has gotten me through a lot in the past three years.
That dinosaur was in your dorm room and was given to me by my mom when she broke the news to me three years ago, tomorrow.
That dinosaur was with me at your wake and funeral.
That dinosaur was with me when I decided on which college to go to.
That dinosaur was with me whenever I was having a bad day.
That dinosaur was with me when got admitted into BFA photography program.
That dinosaur was there when I made a book, just for you.
That dinosaur sits next to my bed every night.
That dinosaur is one of the only physical things I have to remember you by.
That dinosaur can never make up for your absence, but the memories I have make things better.
I am so lucky to have known you and without you I may be going to school to just be a number in our society.
I may have denied my artistic passion, but you pushed me to embrace it, rather than hide it.
You influenced me in ways that I think you could never understand.
Although you are gone, you have given me more than most people have in this world.
Gone is such a permanent word, you're not really gone, you're here in other ways and that helps me get through my days as a busy photography student.
I love you Elizabeth, and with your blue dinosaur and the memories I have, I can get through anything.
That dinosaur traveled with me to Poughkeepsie to student teach.
That dinosaur ate my awful fast food lunch with me.
That dinosaur was in my pocket when I did a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg today.
That dinosaur was with me when I had the usual hummus and pretzel dinner.
That dinosaur was with me when I sat in my room listening to the Garden State soundtrack remembering the time we sang every song on the railroad tracks.
That dinosaur has gotten me through a lot in the past three years.
That dinosaur was in your dorm room and was given to me by my mom when she broke the news to me three years ago, tomorrow.
That dinosaur was with me at your wake and funeral.
That dinosaur was with me when I decided on which college to go to.
That dinosaur was with me whenever I was having a bad day.
That dinosaur was with me when got admitted into BFA photography program.
That dinosaur was there when I made a book, just for you.
That dinosaur sits next to my bed every night.
That dinosaur is one of the only physical things I have to remember you by.
That dinosaur can never make up for your absence, but the memories I have make things better.
I am so lucky to have known you and without you I may be going to school to just be a number in our society.
I may have denied my artistic passion, but you pushed me to embrace it, rather than hide it.
You influenced me in ways that I think you could never understand.
Although you are gone, you have given me more than most people have in this world.
Gone is such a permanent word, you're not really gone, you're here in other ways and that helps me get through my days as a busy photography student.
I love you Elizabeth, and with your blue dinosaur and the memories I have, I can get through anything.
Anniversary by Susan Markert
It comes
like fog
settling in and over
the day.
A date, a time, a moment
that changed everything.
They did not know
in the produce department at the grocery store
where a mother caught an avalanche of orange peppers
set off by her curious toddler
They did not know
at the stop light
where a car full of teens
smoking
waited for the light to change
Or on the boulevard
where a couple argued in a car
over something insignificant
and both felt unappreciated.
The mailman still came
the catalogs glossy
and promising a better life
My mothers red-rimmed eyes
The sound of a wail
as my purse fell
to the floor
Where did it come from?
It was me
I heard
As if watching
from another room
far from the truth telling
The sky looked different after knowing
as my heart shattered
into millions of little pieces
and fell to the ground
shiny and scattered
And I felt as if
I would never stop crying
Ever.
Does she remember my face
my eyes
before the news?
Did they change
like the sky?
The earth shifted that day
Only some felt it
Still feel it
When the fog moves in.
***************************************
Susan is my cousin, and lost her father, my uncle Edward Markert, suddenly one morning when he did not wake up. He was 52, Susan 17.
Howling
Every day after his dinner
the cat lets out a yowl that cannot be explained
Is he still hungry
Was the meal too wonderful
Who knows what he is missing or needing
to explain further
When she first died he would go to the bed
in search of her, and I would be there
and he would bury his head in my hand
and be comforted.
But sometimes
a yowl
is what
is needed
the cat lets out a yowl that cannot be explained
Is he still hungry
Was the meal too wonderful
Who knows what he is missing or needing
to explain further
When she first died he would go to the bed
in search of her, and I would be there
and he would bury his head in my hand
and be comforted.
But sometimes
a yowl
is what
is needed
from Liza Bennett
Dear Patty:
Just wanted you to know that we're thinking about you and Richard today. This, always one of my favorite Roethke poems, seems to perfectly distill my own feelings.
ELEGY FOR JANE (My student, thrown by a horse) I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils; And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile; And how, once started into talk, the light syllables leaped for her. And she balanced in the delight of her thought, A wren, happy, tail into the wind, Her song trembling the twigs and small branches. The shade sang with her; The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing, And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose. Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth, Even a father could not find her: Scraping her cheek against straw, Stirring the clearest water. My sparrow, you are not here, Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow. The sides of wet stones cannot console me, Nor the moss, wound with the last light. If only I could nudge you from this sleep, My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon. Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love: I, with no rights in this matter, Neither father nor lover. —Theodore Roethke |
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