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My sister, today on Craggie's birthday, I can only imagine your celebrations, all that he'd told me of your happiness. Then cut short, hopefully rejoined.

In my recent dream he was ordering a conch salad with cheese, happily standing in an outdoor cafe by the shore line. Maybe you both did once, a past in Key West, on his birthday, your beloved, energies entwined.

He died earlier this year, we were not told.

"You can't rival the dead for love. Lose every time..."
Toni Morrison, Jazz

August 15

To you, Craggie, with love for your birthday.

I've begun this post many times, started and stepped back, words in what language to reach you? Each time I try for something bold to write, a thought reflecting loss and bravery, I see instead your evidence on the mossy tree spirit you tacked onto the sea grape trunk, among the sprigs and sway of green welcoming like the great aunts whose echoes you penned on a box after my sister died when the preponderant heavens opened, and you knew then, and before then, those awaiting skies, opening.


Hope with Carole