Coming Back To The World
There are days that I’m glad to be disconnected. Days when I’m happy caught very much in my own head, or spending hours drawn deep into a really good book. Since I’ve been so tired these past few days I’ve tried not to over-stimulate myself with t.v. or hours of surfing the net. I decided to re-read the Harry Potter books to prepare myself for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows this summer. I read like my life depends on it and finished all six books in about a week and a half. I read like a detective and searched for clues. What connects Harry to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? What might happen at the end of the book? Finally there was someone else’s dance with death to worry about.
I open my email and I’ve got a bunch of message from a writing list serve I’m on: Phebus Etienne is dead. A heart attack. She was only 41.
I only met her once. We spent a week together in Mount St. Alphonsus at Cave Canem, a writer’s workshop that years later still shakes me to the core. She was quiet, and beautiful, and had a name that made my mouth smile when I said it out loud. I’ve spent so much time these past several months thinking about my own demise that it was inconceivable to me that one of my peers might leave this planet. I’m tied up inside. What a terrible loss.
There are some great blog tributes from other’s in my Cave Canem family out. I’ll let them speak because I can’t at this time: Cherryl Floyd-Miller’s blog Rootwork: A Writer’s Life and Poetics; Harriet: a blog from the poetry foundation; Noctuary: a record of what passes in the night; and Poet Mom.
God bless her soul and peace and light to those who will miss her.
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