These words were written by Karen Wendy Gilbert who had been a client of Writer’s Relief for ten years. She passed away on September 30, 2008 in Beth Israel Hospice. We’d like to thank her for sharing her writing and some of her time with us. Our own words don’t seem adequate, and so we are choosing to share HER words with you (with her permission). Karen was a courageous and talented woman.
Karen: We send you love, love, love, and more love.
With appreciation of your gift,
Ronnie and the staff of Writer’s Relief
On a clear, cold, God-given morning,
the sky was the original shade of blue
before doubt or cloud or second-thoughts
“Incandescent,” “entropy,” and “implicate,” thrill me.
Amidst the material left as the waves recede are some man-made objects.
An occasional condom, the plastic casing of a tampon, the postage stamp-sized
Ziploc baggie that once held crack. Why anyone would need the rush and crash
Of crack here beside the rush and crash of the tides I can’t imagine,
Although, one is as likely to lead a life of soul-sucking desperation here as anywhere.
I, who know my days are numbered, am at peace here,
As nowhere else. The endless repetition of the waves,
Of the tides, of the flotsam and jetsam lend a soothing sameness to my days.
I repent nothing,
and hurl myself onward,
as fast as my lead shoes allow me, into the yawning abyss
(in my new sunglasses I look just like Grace Kelly).
With red-rimmed eyes and dark-brown skin,
His pores smelling like sweet wine,
The rain falling on his head and face,
He asked me for a quarter.
While I fished in my pocket,
He said, “God, what I really need is a hug.”
I looked up—startled,
And he, afraid he’d lose his quarter
Said—to me, to the rain, to the red traffic light
That kept us both at that corner,
“Now I’ve scared you.”
But he hadn’t.
And in my pocket I found two quarters and a dime,
And gave it all to him.
As well as the hug.