While I walk by the lake, I listen to an interview with the New Yorker cartoon editor. He says he knows what will be in his obituary, the punchline from his most famous comic — “How about never? Is never good for you?” Yesterday my social media lit up with notes about the anniversary of John Keats’ death and the phrase of his gravestone — “Here is one who was writ on water.” A former student grieves the suicide of a friend and veteran and sends me a link to a video she’d made of him. She keeps watching it. We seek ways to memorialize, to mark the place we have held on this earth. On this tree on the trail I discover dog tags, names written in pen. They represent those who died in poverty, the homeless of our city who were lost last year. Someone wanted to mark their place. Someone wanted them remembered.
February 25, 2015