Jehanah

I miss you Jehanah
and I never told you thank you for welcoming me.
You were the heart of Sacred Grounds for me
and when the ground was pulled out
from under my stumbling feet -
you were there for me,
offering safe haven
at the reading you built,
not for yourself
as the shine of your silver hair
wove us into your moonlight,
but for us
the poets decimated by pinball economics,
shadowed by unwanted graves,
broken hearts on our sleeves,
and you gave us word birds
to chirp on our shoulder
until our poems flooded back,
our tears dried up,
and a river of words came,
reminding us
that there is hope, always hope.
When my bones disconnected,
words no longer joining them together,
you reminded me
that Dorothy's scarecrow
already had courage
as you pat me on the back with smiles,
sign me up, and tell me to sit if I need to
everybody was here to hear my poems.
Yesterday I read you were gone on Facebook,
put my head down, and cried
as my youngest son gave me a hug.
I feel adrift with no safe refuge,
unable to walk beside or thru my poems
that slip away with my confidence,
and as I stumble and fall again,
a million letters-words-poems
scattered around my crippled body,
I look up thru the tangle of my hair
to see you there,
reaching out to smooth my hair,
offering me a smile and an ear
with that twinkle of life in your eyes.
You brought us the peace of trees,
the redwood history of ancient stories,
your thrill at a new Hawaiian grandchild,
always touching each person who came into the room.
Now, here at your memorial
encircled by the wonder of your friends
who tell in a rain of poems
that you are here and always will be,
I know why this is Sacred Ground,
knowing that you have left each of us
a closet of visions
just waiting for us
in your mansion of trees

- Debra Grace Khattab - 11/17/10