Since the #campfire broke out, I’ve felt a bizarre sense of deja vu about grief. Mourning Jack and watching the anguish of my neighbors just west of here brought something back. Then I remembered writing this poem and performing it with my friend Maggie McKaig at a Coyote Women Howling event at the North Columbia Schoolhouse around the turn of the century. I’ve felt this before. It was after my nephew was killed, when Timothy McVey murdered so many in Oklahoma City. Today’s circumstances differ, but the twist and the pull are just the same. I feel the weight of my neighbors’ ashes as they fall here, and now my tears are no longer specific, no longer personal.
In Death’s Circle
a poem for two voices
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me
it’s just the way life changes like the shoreline of the sea
let’s not talk of love or change or things we can’t untie
your eyes fill with sorrow–hey that’s no way to say good-bye–L. Cohen
April 19, 1995
one more survivor is all we ask
no one I know is sleeping near midnight
fenced in by walls we pace through the pauses
in news bulletins, try to fathom a reason
July 21, 1994
Soon there is room in ICU
for me to see him again
I stare at his comatose face
Begin massaging his healthy legs
study the amber hairs on his calves
He just clipped his toenails his mom
tells me in a swollen voice
this is samsara–the realm of human suffering
I look into her black blue face
barely recognize her
she collapses on his chest again
gives in to the sobbing
there may still be survivors
trapped in the building
“Gotta hope! Gotta hope!” I chant
massage his calves
study the meter that
monitors brain pressure
stare at the shunt wedged in
to his dark blond straight cut hair
He is ten years old.
on Friday they near the daycare center
one mother’s waited 48 hours for news
workers tear through risk and rebar
Out in the waiting room we bargain with God.
2 p.m. Friday the 21st there are 58 counted dead
5 pm. Friday the 21st there are 65 counted dead
(Two weeks ago, right after his birthday
We hugged and rocked at the foot of my stairs
“We’re so stupid,” we joked, “we should see each other
every day when we love each other so much.”)
Nearer and nearer to the babies
Then the phone call
the rush to Sacramento
to see the shunt
to see the meters
to see the flagging hope
By Monday over a hundred counted dead
I am the cheerleader
“Gotta hope! Gotta hope!”
One more survivor
Just one more is all we ask.
meet with doctors in the conference room
A woman weeps over her grandson
incubating in the ICU burn unit
swap folk tales of
brain injury recoveries
in the waiting room
One woman on the news says:
“There were so many people, hurt so badly”
she says all the people from her unit are
wondering about that one baby
somehow eating
somehow breathing
somehow hoping
keep massaging
They have reached the daycare center
“Fight Barry! Fight!” I say to him
“It’s no longer a matter of fighting,” the nurse says
Just one more is all we ask
we sign the papers for organ donation
Finally the heavy equipment can come in
Last Rites: the family gathered ‘round
My brother, his father, stands arms crossed
My mother’s face–acute with grief
she has already buried a son
with this child’s name
My father’s face resigned to loss
This is samsara–the realm of human suffering
“Gotta hope. Gotta hope.” I say
after everyone has left
The final death count: one hundred sixty-seven
I watch the meters wind down
feel my stomach twist
out of me
pulling my throat
pulling my face
into the gravity
of death’s circle
Friends have created a Go Fund Me to help CC with Jack’s medical expenses. Please share widely and give if you can.
Just as importantly, please help the victims of the #campfire in any way you can.
Thank you for sharing your powerful and poignant experiences with grief; how devastating! And such an important point, to share with others their grief and devastation, to be witness to and to help however we can – truly the meaning of community. Much love to you and yours!