This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
No other world
but this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
The thing is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs:
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes I will take you
I will love you, again.
I call and hear your voice
on the answering machine
weeks after your death,
a fledgling ghost still longing
for human messages.
Shall I leave one, telling
how the fabric of our lives
has been ripped before
but that this sudden tear will not
be mended soon or easily?
In your emptying house, others
roll up rugs, pack books,
drink coffee at your antique table,
and listen to messages left
on a machine haunted
by the timbre of your voice,
more palpable than photographs
or fingerprints. On this first day
of this first fall without you,
ashamed and resisting
but compelled, I dial again
the number I know by heart,
thankful in a diminished world
for the accidental mercy of machines,
then listen and hang up.
Gentle • thoughtful• gentle soul • creative • artistic • a sweet girl• confident • observant • a good artist • gentle and kind • generous • interested • all smiles • kind • lots of ideas • artistic • quietly sweet • has a lot to say • sweet nature • very helpful and smart • #1 treasure collector • good team player • always full of smiles and sunbeams • quiet • sweet and diligent
From Veronica’s classmates
by Mary
We know you as a good friend, a jeweler, a budding artist. And I wonder if everyone also knows that you were a Garden Goddess. How do I know that you were a Garden Goddess? The best cucumber I have ever eaten came from your personal garden. I remember once when I came over for dinner, that, in addition to the delicious cucumber, you also harvested—minutes before dinner—the greens that made up the salad. I remember your wise mother saying: “Dinner is almost ready—time for the salad!” You walked into your backyard to your raised bed and collected the ingredients. You prepared a perfect salad dressing after washing your harvest and delivered to the table the finished product: the freshest best tasting salad that could only come from a Garden Goddess.
I miss walking with you in the gardens.