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This is my LJ Idol entry for this week, with the topic of "Sankofa." Sankofa is an African word from the Akan tribe in Ghana. The literal translation of the word and the symbol is “it is not taboo to fetch what is at risk of being left behind.”
The Painter's Heart
(for Sarah)
An American Kestrel, an Osprey,
a Steller's Jay, they all perch
on our bookshelf, watching over our living room.
Wood grain visible beneath your
measured paint strokes. Your neat handwriting
declaring each painting's message:
Happy birthday, love Sarah.
I had just lost my mother when you
came into my life, filling in the gap
perfectly, that bright, ragged hole,
swelling it with your cheerful, smart,
creative presence. You smiled every time
I mentioned this, giving freely
of your love. You would hug me
through the phone, wish your grandson
love to the Moon and Back. (A little
competition you two would hold. He loved
you to Mars. You loved him to the ends
of the universe.)
Of the too-few days in person, my favorite
was the day we spent at the Brandywine River
Museum in Chadd's Ford, a showcase
for the work of another American artist, Andrew
Wyeth. We took the studio tour, marveled
at the workspace, still in place. The paints
waiting for a phantom hand. We made our way
through every wing of the museum, studied
each work and talked about our favorites. Even
ate dinner at Wyeth's favorite watering hole,
down the road, and joked about whether his
ghost would visit that evening.
You always smiled like sunshine, but my favorite
photos from that day are you, caught unaware,
studying a Wyeth painting. The artist deep
in thought and appreciation.
Love was your art. You didn't give yourself
nearly enough credit for how skilled you were
at sharing it. With family, with the friends
you introduced by name when we visited. You knew
the entire small town. Not just knew them, either.
You held them all in your heart. Painted
carefully and catalogued. Stretching to the
Moon, and Back again.
~~~
I wrote this for Sarah's memorial service, held a couple weeks ago at her sister's house near their childhood home in Cape Cod. I couldn't help tearing up while reading, and many guests told me how much they loved it. So many people shared similar experiences with her: how she was an adventurous spirit, always driven by creativity and love. We are so lucky to have known her, and to be able to hold onto these memories, these fragments of a wonderful human being.
The Painter's Heart
(for Sarah)
An American Kestrel, an Osprey,
a Steller's Jay, they all perch
on our bookshelf, watching over our living room.
Wood grain visible beneath your
measured paint strokes. Your neat handwriting
declaring each painting's message:
Happy birthday, love Sarah.
I had just lost my mother when you
came into my life, filling in the gap
perfectly, that bright, ragged hole,
swelling it with your cheerful, smart,
creative presence. You smiled every time
I mentioned this, giving freely
of your love. You would hug me
through the phone, wish your grandson
love to the Moon and Back. (A little
competition you two would hold. He loved
you to Mars. You loved him to the ends
of the universe.)
Of the too-few days in person, my favorite
was the day we spent at the Brandywine River
Museum in Chadd's Ford, a showcase
for the work of another American artist, Andrew
Wyeth. We took the studio tour, marveled
at the workspace, still in place. The paints
waiting for a phantom hand. We made our way
through every wing of the museum, studied
each work and talked about our favorites. Even
ate dinner at Wyeth's favorite watering hole,
down the road, and joked about whether his
ghost would visit that evening.
You always smiled like sunshine, but my favorite
photos from that day are you, caught unaware,
studying a Wyeth painting. The artist deep
in thought and appreciation.
Love was your art. You didn't give yourself
nearly enough credit for how skilled you were
at sharing it. With family, with the friends
you introduced by name when we visited. You knew
the entire small town. Not just knew them, either.
You held them all in your heart. Painted
carefully and catalogued. Stretching to the
Moon, and Back again.
~~~
I wrote this for Sarah's memorial service, held a couple weeks ago at her sister's house near their childhood home in Cape Cod. I couldn't help tearing up while reading, and many guests told me how much they loved it. So many people shared similar experiences with her: how she was an adventurous spirit, always driven by creativity and love. We are so lucky to have known her, and to be able to hold onto these memories, these fragments of a wonderful human being.
