Thank you beauty. I remember pinching my eyes closed through tears when I wrote that line. Trying to feel what my heart couldn't yet feel. All I kept seeing were my four babes, each roosting in a chamber of my heart. When the 2017 full solar eclipse came to the PNW, the girls roosted midday, mistaking that eerie darkness for night, kind of the way grief pulls down a midday shade. (But then 30 minutes later they were back, happily scratching around the yard, which is also a bit like grief!)
"Hello, death. We’ve met before, but I always forget we have."
Oh Kimberly, I hold your sad heart close to my own. There is no reconciling or placating heartbreak. No matter how many times it greats us with its finality, the blow is lethal undoing.
I didn't write of this - once, back in January, was enough; three weeks ago, on a glorious Wednesday afternoon, I returned from a walk in the valley to the sound of barking from my below the house in the meadow, I knew that sound. I ran like a furious wind with camera flying, backpack still on, screaming past the door to my husbands atelier (he heard nothing his music too loud) through the alley, down the lane to see the same two St Bernards that had visited before leaving at speed. What I saw when I finally unlatched the gate was Sonny, laying in a cloud of wool in the grass. I don't know where the sound that left my body came from but can only describe it as a war cry... my neighbour heard from his garage 500 m away. There was no sign of the other three...
Thankfully I must have scared the dogs before too much harm was done, as I ran over to my poor sweet motionless Sonny - the only one to have survived the last attack - and fell to my knees, he got shook his head and trembling still from the shock, clambered back to his feet. There was much blood and bare patches of skin but no harm otherwise. He ran immediately in search of the others who were cowering under an old fallen elder.
When I eventually calmed my own trembling hands enough to call the owner, he tried to deny they was his dogs, again... but this time I had proof - his reply, "they've been so well behaved since".
They will return, of this I'm certain, and still I won't be ready....
All my love sweet soul, I hope your hens have met with my poor lost flock and are having a joyous time elsewhere... xxx
I could hear your cry in my belly as I read this Susie. That war cry that will not end, will always deny what we know is not ours to refuse. I’ve thought about your flock so much this past week. Even in the seconds running from the coop to the house, you flashed through my heart. That visceral, maternal no that only wants to nurture and protect. How I couldn’t stop crying “I’m sorry” knowing there wasn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent it. Such a strange paradox we are, this human life. Loving and tending and protecting and promising, yet even the nurturing demands death. I’ve even looked at Dave differently this week, how his warmth, his smile, his intelligence, all of him is made from the death of others—from seed, to plant, to animal, to star. Someday on your hill let’s call out our war cries, the nos and the yeses. Both.
It's breathtaking enough when death comes, but in the eyes that will forever pinch away what you cannot unsee of life eating life to have more life, there is another layer of reckoning.
May your tender heart be held in these depths of feeling. Holding out my hand in shared sorrow.
Many passages struck me in this beautiful poem, Kimberly, not least "not for the sake of healing but feeling" and the image you paint of the chambers of your heart.
I unfurl to your grief and your process, love. I close my eyes and picture going back in time, to when your girls were little, fluffy, wide-eyed chicks and holding them in my cupped hands, whispering, "You'll have poetry written about you, one day"...
The way you see and articulate this living dying experience Chloe takes my breath away. Honestly you might want to consider creating a Hallmark card company, but something entirely more honest and true. :) The lasting quotes, do they just come flying out of you without any thought? I will never unsee you whispering to my babes, "You'll have poetry written about you, one day...."
So sorry to hear about your chickens, Kimberly. Death is hard enough to experience up close but a violent death is so much worse. But you transformed it into something beautiful as you always do.
Well stated Ben. I think that might be one of the reasons why this one has landed so differently than the others. Wonder what Wild would say about the many ways life extinguishes, or if they live differently in him?
Beautiful poem. My neighbor Mike lost all his beloved chickens, geese and a duck he had for 7 years to two huskies who escaped their home. They didn’t even eat his feathered family, just killed them. I’m still heartbroken for Mike.
Oh the violence. It’s made me think a lot about the humans that work in slaughter houses, that live alongside the carnage daily. It’s something greatly sanitized from our lives, though I’m not sure it’s for the better. This experience, and farm life in general, is asking me to look squarely into the eyes of the irreconcilable, the coming together and falling apart. My heart goes out to your friend. ❤️
Lor, who is this angel Maelyn? And how can I send her a packet of wildflower seeds so we can garden our hearts together next spring?… and tend, always, to the weeds. ❤️
I know! Why is it so hard? Life cut short for no (acceptable ... is this the word? ...reasonable? ... good? ...apparent? ...coherent? ... bearable?) reason.
"May the immeasurable hold us close as we lean into the irreconcilable."
What a beautiful prayer 💗🙏 🕯️
in the knowledge that these lives have been cradled in the lap of love ~ and continue to be held there 🪶
Beautiful words Veronika, echoing something I just read over on Renée Eli’s page, “the void is also alive.” The word irreconcilable is what has been sitting with me the most this past week, how at first, it even land in me as hypocritical—that I could mourn my hens yet worship my kitties 3x day with the death of their kin. Of course, the knowledge of death feeding life is nothing new, but it’s grabbed me on a much, much more visceral level this time. That everything I love is always, constantly nurtured by death. Improbable. Unresolvable. And perhaps that’s exactly as it should be.
Wow, Kimberly! My heart goes out to you as I am reading your words.
In the light of your personal story this must be such an unsettling experience. Death feeding life... love nurtured by death... irreconcilable... which may be precisely be the challenge... to conciliate (= to bring together, unite in feelings) life and death 💕 🐦🔥
You have read my mind 😊 of course, the thought sprouted in my mindscape as soon as I read the word. It's such a fascinating family.
And me too, Kimberly! Every word, and their family, when I plant them in a wordcast in the wildwordwoods of Symbiopædia, are teaching me so much! Now that you have mentioned them, I'm getting excited about this one and put the theme on my list for the New Year. xx
I can't articulate what others have done with such clarity here in the comments, but there was immense power in the way you conveyed this Kimberly, in the foreword and then in the words themselves.
Aw, I'm sorry Kim ❤️🩹 My cat went missing earlier this year, 'no resolution' - you iterated what I felt all so well in this poem... I feel with you. ❤️
Oh god no! I want to yell into the void with you, no no no no no. And “going missing” is an entirely different level of irreconcilable. I’m so sorry Micah. This loving can hurt so much.
I just did a silent scream for us both! 😱 Yeah it is, I like to imagine she was taken by nature rather than something man-made... but nature, as you say in the poem, is also a brutal reality... This loving does hurt so much - it's also so necessary and joyful - which I can only say now months down the line... Initially it just fucking hurts. 💔
Thanks Kimberly, that was excellent as usual. Full of goodness and love.
And that’s the thing isn’t it? Death being game over. No more playing. No more goodness and love. Whether a chicken, or a crab (long story) or a person, that vacuum where they once played upon the living plane is deep and dark and strange.
Connecting the lines (or rather tangled scribbles) between “game over” and goodness and love is a life’s work. Thanks for recognizing that path. And yes I do need to know about that crab!
So beautifully written Kimberly. Your way with words never ceases to amaze and uplift me. No matter your subject matter you find the magic in it and you illuminate it — and I love it!
It was all wonderful, but I particularly liked these words at the beginning:
“With time I am learning: intimacy with the insult doesn’t necessarily promise lift or renewal, but a more lasting grace with irreconcilable truths and the raw feeling they demand.”
I’m so glad you pointed that out Michael. The opening statement was the crystallized thought I was trying to convey in the poem, or at least am trying to learn in my life right now. I even had the thought I should just write those lines into the poem but then I got all stuck in trying to explain myself so there you go.:)
For me, having that opening statement standing above and alone from the poem actually enhanced the poem, because it was like you’d given me a lens through which to perceive the poem. Point is: I think you nailed it :)
Heart wrenching and beautifully expressed Kimberly.
Walking with death is not easy for any of us.
Know that you don’t have to see all the ugliness of what was left behind as repeating pictures in your mind. That won’t help. See them pecking, running about, roosting in a pile of straw and scratching their feet as they dig for bugs.
It’s challenging to walk with the insight that all things end. (At least this current physical form does). And my heart sends yours a hug of compassion.
I appreciate you saying that Teyani. I actually made a note to research why our brains get stuck on replaying violence? Maybe you have an insight. I’m thinking it has something to do with how we process trauma, trying to release ourselves from the emotion of the scene?
I’ve always imagined that it had to do with our survival instincts. Ingraining upon us what danger can do so that we avoid it. Rather than push it aside or out, perhaps you can invite it in one last time, and have it transform within your mind’s eye into the spirits of each of your precious little beings, see them rising up from the dirt and dancing in their way into the sky. Remind your heart that they are not in that scene, that they would have crossed very quickly, and you do not need to review it again to feel closure.
Very gently respond this way each time the picture appears in your mind, until it simply stops (and it will).
Ahhh, thank you for your skillful wisdom. This makes a lot of sense. And your visualization is so appreciated. I will do this. (And thank you for reminding me the replay it will eventually stop.❤️) I also wonder, too, since I’m no stranger to violent death but was not present for either of my dad’s accidents, maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to make it real, even after all these years…
My heart goes out to you…. I’m in a place where I don’t know enough about what happened with your Dad, but I’d be glad to DM with you if you would like to sort it a bit and if I can be of help 💞
Thank you friend. Your kindness is unparalleled. My memoir revealed a lot of this story and helped work through some of the larger themes. I had forgotten we connected after I shared the memoir! That’s to say, I’m ok, just feeling the feelings, letting the immediacy of this event reach into my past to inform and hold other griefs. But if I ever feel like a wise companion would be needed, I definitely know who to call. (And I’ve already had that thought, unprompted by your offering here. Your essays are so powerfully clear and helpful!)
Gorgeous. Again. As always.
Sending a flutter, an embrace, from “my four-feathered chambers” to yours. Wonderful phrase that, dear friend.
Thank you beauty. I remember pinching my eyes closed through tears when I wrote that line. Trying to feel what my heart couldn't yet feel. All I kept seeing were my four babes, each roosting in a chamber of my heart. When the 2017 full solar eclipse came to the PNW, the girls roosted midday, mistaking that eerie darkness for night, kind of the way grief pulls down a midday shade. (But then 30 minutes later they were back, happily scratching around the yard, which is also a bit like grief!)
Yes, that is a bit like grief on both accounts.
"Hello, death. We’ve met before, but I always forget we have."
Oh Kimberly, I hold your sad heart close to my own. There is no reconciling or placating heartbreak. No matter how many times it greats us with its finality, the blow is lethal undoing.
I didn't write of this - once, back in January, was enough; three weeks ago, on a glorious Wednesday afternoon, I returned from a walk in the valley to the sound of barking from my below the house in the meadow, I knew that sound. I ran like a furious wind with camera flying, backpack still on, screaming past the door to my husbands atelier (he heard nothing his music too loud) through the alley, down the lane to see the same two St Bernards that had visited before leaving at speed. What I saw when I finally unlatched the gate was Sonny, laying in a cloud of wool in the grass. I don't know where the sound that left my body came from but can only describe it as a war cry... my neighbour heard from his garage 500 m away. There was no sign of the other three...
Thankfully I must have scared the dogs before too much harm was done, as I ran over to my poor sweet motionless Sonny - the only one to have survived the last attack - and fell to my knees, he got shook his head and trembling still from the shock, clambered back to his feet. There was much blood and bare patches of skin but no harm otherwise. He ran immediately in search of the others who were cowering under an old fallen elder.
When I eventually calmed my own trembling hands enough to call the owner, he tried to deny they was his dogs, again... but this time I had proof - his reply, "they've been so well behaved since".
They will return, of this I'm certain, and still I won't be ready....
All my love sweet soul, I hope your hens have met with my poor lost flock and are having a joyous time elsewhere... xxx
That was a terribly long winded way of saying I know, I wish I didn't but... xx
I could hear your cry in my belly as I read this Susie. That war cry that will not end, will always deny what we know is not ours to refuse. I’ve thought about your flock so much this past week. Even in the seconds running from the coop to the house, you flashed through my heart. That visceral, maternal no that only wants to nurture and protect. How I couldn’t stop crying “I’m sorry” knowing there wasn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent it. Such a strange paradox we are, this human life. Loving and tending and protecting and promising, yet even the nurturing demands death. I’ve even looked at Dave differently this week, how his warmth, his smile, his intelligence, all of him is made from the death of others—from seed, to plant, to animal, to star. Someday on your hill let’s call out our war cries, the nos and the yeses. Both.
Kimberly,
It's breathtaking enough when death comes, but in the eyes that will forever pinch away what you cannot unsee of life eating life to have more life, there is another layer of reckoning.
May your tender heart be held in these depths of feeling. Holding out my hand in shared sorrow.
Many passages struck me in this beautiful poem, Kimberly, not least "not for the sake of healing but feeling" and the image you paint of the chambers of your heart.
Reaching my hand back to you dear friend. And then pulling in for a warm embrace, your friend and my feathered babes held between us.
🙏 [when words won’t do]
I unfurl to your grief and your process, love. I close my eyes and picture going back in time, to when your girls were little, fluffy, wide-eyed chicks and holding them in my cupped hands, whispering, "You'll have poetry written about you, one day"...
The way you see and articulate this living dying experience Chloe takes my breath away. Honestly you might want to consider creating a Hallmark card company, but something entirely more honest and true. :) The lasting quotes, do they just come flying out of you without any thought? I will never unsee you whispering to my babes, "You'll have poetry written about you, one day...."
❤️
So sorry to hear about your chickens, Kimberly. Death is hard enough to experience up close but a violent death is so much worse. But you transformed it into something beautiful as you always do.
Well stated Ben. I think that might be one of the reasons why this one has landed so differently than the others. Wonder what Wild would say about the many ways life extinguishes, or if they live differently in him?
And so we learn ... I think of this poem as I read yours and join with you in life and loss:
#660
‘Tis good—the looking back on Grief—
To re-endure a Day—
We thought the Mighty Funeral—
Of All Conceived Joy—
To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle—one by one—
Till all the Grief with Summer—waved
And none could see the stone.
And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger—As the sea
Exceeds its unremembered Drop—
They’re Water—equally—
c. 1862 published 1935 Emily Dickinson
Beautiful poem. My neighbor Mike lost all his beloved chickens, geese and a duck he had for 7 years to two huskies who escaped their home. They didn’t even eat his feathered family, just killed them. I’m still heartbroken for Mike.
Sending hugs.
Oh the violence. It’s made me think a lot about the humans that work in slaughter houses, that live alongside the carnage daily. It’s something greatly sanitized from our lives, though I’m not sure it’s for the better. This experience, and farm life in general, is asking me to look squarely into the eyes of the irreconcilable, the coming together and falling apart. My heart goes out to your friend. ❤️
The beginnings of a poem written by Maelyn Slavik 14, Burlington , VT. From our state’s ; Young Writer’s Project.
This poem was just published today.
For Dotty, Phyllis, Joan and Laverne
For the wound on your landscape.
For you and Dave;
“I’d like to garden
my own heart, to pull the weeds of sadness…”
Lor, who is this angel Maelyn? And how can I send her a packet of wildflower seeds so we can garden our hearts together next spring?… and tend, always, to the weeds. ❤️
"Hello, death. We’ve met before,
but I always forget we have."
I know! Why is it so hard? Life cut short for no (acceptable ... is this the word? ...reasonable? ... good? ...apparent? ...coherent? ... bearable?) reason.
"May the immeasurable hold us close as we lean into the irreconcilable."
What a beautiful prayer 💗🙏 🕯️
in the knowledge that these lives have been cradled in the lap of love ~ and continue to be held there 🪶
Beautiful words Veronika, echoing something I just read over on Renée Eli’s page, “the void is also alive.” The word irreconcilable is what has been sitting with me the most this past week, how at first, it even land in me as hypocritical—that I could mourn my hens yet worship my kitties 3x day with the death of their kin. Of course, the knowledge of death feeding life is nothing new, but it’s grabbed me on a much, much more visceral level this time. That everything I love is always, constantly nurtured by death. Improbable. Unresolvable. And perhaps that’s exactly as it should be.
Wow, Kimberly! My heart goes out to you as I am reading your words.
In the light of your personal story this must be such an unsettling experience. Death feeding life... love nurtured by death... irreconcilable... which may be precisely be the challenge... to conciliate (= to bring together, unite in feelings) life and death 💕 🐦🔥
Ahhhh, brilliant Veronika. Please expand on irreconcilable and her sister conciliation at some point! I have much to learn.
You have read my mind 😊 of course, the thought sprouted in my mindscape as soon as I read the word. It's such a fascinating family.
And me too, Kimberly! Every word, and their family, when I plant them in a wordcast in the wildwordwoods of Symbiopædia, are teaching me so much! Now that you have mentioned them, I'm getting excited about this one and put the theme on my list for the New Year. xx
Wonderful!
Oh! I'm so sorry for your chickens! They make great pets (I hear). 💔
Chirp peep. Lamb would’ve sobbbbbbbbbbed right alongside me.
Oh, we would have been puddles, all three of us 💔
I can't articulate what others have done with such clarity here in the comments, but there was immense power in the way you conveyed this Kimberly, in the foreword and then in the words themselves.
I'm sorry for your loss of those beautiful birds.
So grateful for your feedback and presence Nathan. Always.
Aw, I'm sorry Kim ❤️🩹 My cat went missing earlier this year, 'no resolution' - you iterated what I felt all so well in this poem... I feel with you. ❤️
Oh god no! I want to yell into the void with you, no no no no no. And “going missing” is an entirely different level of irreconcilable. I’m so sorry Micah. This loving can hurt so much.
I just did a silent scream for us both! 😱 Yeah it is, I like to imagine she was taken by nature rather than something man-made... but nature, as you say in the poem, is also a brutal reality... This loving does hurt so much - it's also so necessary and joyful - which I can only say now months down the line... Initially it just fucking hurts. 💔
I think our babes heard us!
Also, from a purely poetic perspective - I love this piece. It's visceral but eloquent all at the same time.
❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔
Exactly.
Thanks Kimberly, that was excellent as usual. Full of goodness and love.
And that’s the thing isn’t it? Death being game over. No more playing. No more goodness and love. Whether a chicken, or a crab (long story) or a person, that vacuum where they once played upon the living plane is deep and dark and strange.
Thanks for a beautiful read
Connecting the lines (or rather tangled scribbles) between “game over” and goodness and love is a life’s work. Thanks for recognizing that path. And yes I do need to know about that crab!
So beautifully written Kimberly. Your way with words never ceases to amaze and uplift me. No matter your subject matter you find the magic in it and you illuminate it — and I love it!
It was all wonderful, but I particularly liked these words at the beginning:
“With time I am learning: intimacy with the insult doesn’t necessarily promise lift or renewal, but a more lasting grace with irreconcilable truths and the raw feeling they demand.”
:)
I’m so glad you pointed that out Michael. The opening statement was the crystallized thought I was trying to convey in the poem, or at least am trying to learn in my life right now. I even had the thought I should just write those lines into the poem but then I got all stuck in trying to explain myself so there you go.:)
For me, having that opening statement standing above and alone from the poem actually enhanced the poem, because it was like you’d given me a lens through which to perceive the poem. Point is: I think you nailed it :)
That’s helpful feedback Michael. Thank you friend. :)
I’m so sorry Kimberly. I can feel the ache in your heart from here. Your poem is beautiful and haunting.
Thank you Kim. Beautiful/haunting is a perfect pairing of words.
Heart wrenching and beautifully expressed Kimberly.
Walking with death is not easy for any of us.
Know that you don’t have to see all the ugliness of what was left behind as repeating pictures in your mind. That won’t help. See them pecking, running about, roosting in a pile of straw and scratching their feet as they dig for bugs.
It’s challenging to walk with the insight that all things end. (At least this current physical form does). And my heart sends yours a hug of compassion.
I appreciate you saying that Teyani. I actually made a note to research why our brains get stuck on replaying violence? Maybe you have an insight. I’m thinking it has something to do with how we process trauma, trying to release ourselves from the emotion of the scene?
I’ve always imagined that it had to do with our survival instincts. Ingraining upon us what danger can do so that we avoid it. Rather than push it aside or out, perhaps you can invite it in one last time, and have it transform within your mind’s eye into the spirits of each of your precious little beings, see them rising up from the dirt and dancing in their way into the sky. Remind your heart that they are not in that scene, that they would have crossed very quickly, and you do not need to review it again to feel closure.
Very gently respond this way each time the picture appears in your mind, until it simply stops (and it will).
Ahhh, thank you for your skillful wisdom. This makes a lot of sense. And your visualization is so appreciated. I will do this. (And thank you for reminding me the replay it will eventually stop.❤️) I also wonder, too, since I’m no stranger to violent death but was not present for either of my dad’s accidents, maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to make it real, even after all these years…
My heart goes out to you…. I’m in a place where I don’t know enough about what happened with your Dad, but I’d be glad to DM with you if you would like to sort it a bit and if I can be of help 💞
Thank you friend. Your kindness is unparalleled. My memoir revealed a lot of this story and helped work through some of the larger themes. I had forgotten we connected after I shared the memoir! That’s to say, I’m ok, just feeling the feelings, letting the immediacy of this event reach into my past to inform and hold other griefs. But if I ever feel like a wise companion would be needed, I definitely know who to call. (And I’ve already had that thought, unprompted by your offering here. Your essays are so powerfully clear and helpful!)