On the off-ramp to Stellenbosch, men stand on the median divider, selling arm-fulls of dramatic green stalks capped with delicate white trumpets, all bundled together with twine.Continue reading “Protea Season”
To the Lost: A bricolage poetry series
On Sunday, May 31st, my favorite newspaper, The New York Times, published a list of nearly 100,000 names of the victims of COVID-19 in the United States. On its front cover were the names of 1,000 victims, along with their ages, locations, and a brief line from their obituaries.
I was struck by the array. Some of the lines read like poetry, some made me laugh aloud, and some made my heart ache in their brevity. I imagined each of the people behind these names, and I winced painfully at the thought of many of them dying alone, without their families surrounding them. This tribute from the Times affords them even the slightest recognition of a life lived and now concluded, with dignity.Continue reading “To the Lost: A bricolage poetry series”