|VERONIKA KLANCNIK 1974 - 2005|
Spring and summer role around and I think of my friend Veronika who died too young as her birthday and the anniversary of her death approach. In the Middle Ages, churches celebrated death as the real birth day. We don't think so today, and who knows what kind of world we move to when we die, but I like to remember her around this time, as the sun moves into Cancer and everything feels soft and smells sweet. The sky is pink in the evenings and light when I awake.
I first met her in the park with the chestnut trees and she softened my arrival in Geneva and became my first friend here. I wish I could have known her longer. Once we waded in a kiddie pool in a dark park, high on champagne or each other or strawberries or the weather or whatever; I like how this season brings these memories back to me. I've written other poems for her, not sure this is the second, but there you have it.
How nice to find your gaze
in somebody else's eyes
or is it something around
the mouth or is it a shared
intellect? I don't know but
what's missed usually reappears,
a tender boy I once knew
whose body I see in a man
I crossed paths with in the cafeteria.
You were there too, maybe
in her way of stepping
or in her round face or in
the space between her eyes,
but yours were blue.
That came out today and all I had to do was arrange the lines a little. Difficult things are easier in Spring.