The Ride

Tuesday, April 30, 2019, 04:19 PM – Poetry and Writing

Marcel, you’re a pirate, a dreamer
a bugger, a spinner of yarn,
you are one of my fondest memories.
Guitar, crackling fire, a few friends,
the ocean A-framed.

If only the world could drift off like
we did that night,
bodies opening to new trust.

In your fourth round,
still standing you bought a motorbike,
a t-shirt with a radioactive sign, asked
the nurses to play Wagner’s Ride.

Nothing big is easy.
A woman found four bees
living from her tears.

This isn’t news to our bodies.
That grief both offers & unseats. It’s
messy, we’re always a little close
to stinging or being stung yet something is fed
when we love. Grace and a big unflinching heart
can hold most of this. When we lean right in
there is space
around words
around the tightening
around minds that keep buzzing
and feeding.

When we let it move
let the space and silence
around sensations bloom,
it is us-
sadness and fear,
symbols and bellies
motorbikes and Wagner,
wide wide ocean and fire
this round, every round
still moving
still open
and yes, by god, you’d insist,
fist & grin if you were here,

still standing.

In memory of Marcel LaRoche. For Sam, Mischa, Natasha and that big unflinching heart.