"Christine's Circus"

I recently learned of the death of a very close friend of mine whom I had known for forty years. We met in a drama class in college and she was a spectacular presence. Her high energy and explosive sense of humor was only matched by her fearlessness. She dove into any unusual situation, any odd job, any red-flag romance with bravado. But later her modus operandi gave way to mental illness, possibly bi-polar or manic depression, which she self-medicated with alcohol (and maybe more). She was troubled and she struggled against life itself, seemingly punching the air at all the injustice in her life and in other's, at anything and everything around her. I did as much as I could to help her but she disappeared from my life for periods and would resurface living in another part of the country, sometimes homeless, having suffered some more. As one could possibly guess, she ended up in the prison system the last several years. I spoke with her last year when she phoned me out of the blue, and it was a heartbreaking, erratic conversation in which she said she was going to buy property in Wales, and that she was feeding a family of racoons. The racoon part was not surprising...she adored animals, all of them, and often took in any stray dog or cat that crossed her path, and showered them with great love and care.  And now she is gone.

I wrote this poem for her in 1991, already sensing the trajectory of her life. So for this Day of the Dead, I have placed her picture on my ofrenda along with other family members and friends, and I remember her with love.

Christine's Circus

After she left college and
before she settled down,
Christine joined a
traveling circus.
After intermission,
she was a dancing
harem girl,
shaking her tambourine,
circling the tent
with the caravan.
They’d get the animals
ready, in a line:
white horses in
Arabian caparisons,
elephants with lions
riding on their backs...
and camels
loaded with parcels
and boxes and goods.
The cast assembled.

But the camels
always had trouble
getting up.
Their legs would shake
as they tried to
lift the weight.
“I have watched
those camels struggle,
with all that shit
strapped to them--
five days a week,
two shows on Saturdays--
and when the camels
were a little too slow,
they were whipped.”

One night, when
two of the camels
just couldn’t get up,
she ran into
the center ring and
led the audience in
“The Star Spangled Banner”
to stall for time.

Now, in her dreams,
she sees the camels
in a storybook
she reads to some children...
C is for Camel.

I hope you have found some peace and rest my friend, as you join the everything of the Universe.