You Live On: A poem for Brandy Thuernagle

 

On Wednesday, July 17, I celebrated the life of Brandy Thuernagle, a sister in recovery.  This is the poem I read for her service.  As I was writing this, I didn't realize how close we really were, how well I knew her, how much our lives mirrored each other.  This poem was a way of working through my own grief. It is said people are in our lives for a reason.  Perhaps Brandy was in my life to show me how to cherish and capture the blessings we have before it is too late.  To hold on to sobriety and grab on to the opportunities it offers as they come along. To all of those in my life that make it better, thank you. And to all of those who came along that gave me lessons and left, thank you. I am grateful for all the love I have to give. 

Brandy, I loved you. Loved you like a sister.  May your memory live on. 

You Live On

 --For Brandy, with love

 

It is a Wednesday as I write this.
You died only a few days ago.
Now whenever someone speaks your name,
there is silence.
That isn’t like you,
to leave something unsaid,
something unexplained,
to let me get a word spoken in response,
more than a sentence said in reply
during the hour we’d spend together.

 Now I’ll be walking
the blue raised 3-lane track at the Y
in silence for good,
with only my tinnitus
and the plodding of my steps for company.
No one to push me, tell me I’m walking too slow,
talk in my ear rushed emphatic words
of seemingly mundane everyday things—
parts of life in small detail.

Now the two sobriety chips you gave me
to hold until you get better
will go unearned, will clink together
and sit on my shelf, ownerless.

You struggled so hard
to smooth your rough edges
and work away your pain;
there is a solace in knowing
your struggle is finally over,
that now you no longer
fight your demons.

Today tears fall at work
so I have to walk to the pond
beyond our building
to hear the bullfrogs talk to each other,
and there’s this small black birdup on the wire following me.
She won’t keep quiet,
keeps chirping in what sounds like
But but but see
and flies above me the entire time,
hopping from wire to wire above me,
calling out “But but but see”,
never letting go of her call,
never keeping silent.
Seems you’ve sent a message,
kept me company out here afterwards
after all.

Tonight I will sit on my steps
in the backyard beside potted plants,
and notice that, where a squirrel
had unearthed and broken a
hackberry seedling, leaving a mere twig
in soil, there now grows a new
small green leaf: new life.
Where death seemed certain,
life appeared.

And I know when I look at your daughter—
though you are gone, your love shines
through her eyes.
Where death seems certain,
you live on.

You live on,
in the chips we give each other for sobriety,
in the birds that sing,
in the plants that send out new leaves,
in the eyes of your daughter.

You live on because we do,
because we remember you.

May God call your spirit home.
May you finally rest.
You were loved, my friend.
You were loved, and you live on.

 

*****

by Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold
aka Julie S. Paschold
author of Horizons & You Have Always Been Here

 

July 10, 2024

The Sightless House Wren: a poem

 

The Sightless House Wren

 

My friend (with a few benefits)
has informed me he cannot see me
anymore, he has found a committed
exclusive partner, so this weekend
I shall remain as untouched
as the newly fallen snow,
only it is now mid-May,
and I remain without a caress.
On my daily walk, I pass a tiny brown
long-beaked bird, lying sideways
and still on the pavement,
killed no doubt by a passing car.
Her last touch was a jarring
blast, not a gentle wisp like today’s breeze.
I realize that the car has
not only ended this one life,
but the babies waiting
back in the nest as well,
now hungry and crying.
I say a quick prayer to Mother Nature,
remind her some of us humans
are working to spread the message
that we must save her, must
rewind the damage we have wrought,
as much as possible, and I hear her reply,
“To whom have you told?
We have received nothing yet.”
The wet soil pushes its hot breath back
at me, and the humid smooth grass
waves me onward responding,
“Don’t stop now. There is work
yet to do.
Go,
do it.
Spread the word.
Save us.
Save her.
Before there is nothing left
to save.”

 

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

5.23.24

Even Better: a poem

 

Even Better

 

Even better than a plodding 3-toed land-locked

emu is to imagine yourself the white feathered

egret, soaring above rivers into skies & clouds

eternal holding their droplets of dew; no boundaries.

 

Even better than the rangeland’s wool-covered cluster of

ewes is to step heavy into wrinkled footprints of an

elephant, these giants lumbering gracefully,

elegant despite their size, with large clear knowing

eyes.

 

Even better than racing the clock, saving the world from some

existential crisis is to prevent the chaos from

enveloping our world, cloaking the innocents,

eating all inhabitants in its wake. With

each beating of our civilized hearts, we

erect barriers to our Mother Nature, the

earth who birthed us all. In the name of

energy we are zapping the sun’s rays hotter,

excrement filling our oceans, ice caps melting,

ending mighty glaciers that collapse and crash.

 

Even better than waiting for that magical day, an

event that

erases our

errors of the past, some heavenly formation of the

exoskeleton we have destroyed, instability

eroding our ozone no longer, wanting more than an

ethereal gauze hazing our future, we

eventually need to face ourselves, to stand

either together or never again, to rid the

ether of lies we inhale to hide our truths,

exit the past of our destruction, join as

equals with our Mother. Respect our resources,

eyes no longer

eclipsed to the glorious

eternity we may offer,

ere this planet and all on it

ends.

 ***

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

4.10.24

 

WD April 2024 Challenge # 10 ____________Better & Write Now #41: begin each line w/ “E”

Change is Hard: a poem

 

Change is Hard

 

When I have to repaint the boards
of my picnic table,
I need to scrape the old
peeling paint off first.
 
If you are going through
a painful or confusing
period of your life,
maybe you are like the
picnic table,
getting rid of the old flaking paint.
Scraping can hurt.
 
But think of it this way:
you are getting ready
for a new, beautiful
you.

 

Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle Paschold

2.11.24