A Remembrance by Erica Orloff
Every time I think I am all cried out about the death of my beloved friend, poet Shann Palmer, it turns out I am not. As I fell into bed last night, again I sobbed for missing her. She left us far too soon, collapsing in mid-December from a heart attack, lingering in a coma for about ten days, before passing on December 21st, just before her birthday. This was a spitfire of a woman. I fully expected her to be raising hell well into her nineties, or to be sitting side by side with her in rocking chairs laughing and talking poetry and words.
But I know, because that is how mourning works, that time will lessen the intensity of the grief, until it feels less like a blade and more like a butter knife. I, and all who loved this amazing woman, will cry less often. And then we’ll have What Remains.More
