The area surrounding the stone is familiar to me—relaxed farm land. The rolling hills, quiet cows, and the soft breeze remind me of home and where I want to be. A car passes and I hear the crunch of the gravel—I think of my brother returning home from school. Dust remains in the air long after the car has left. The flowers that line the fence remind me of our little garden. The grass is soft and I am tempted to lie down and read. The trees sway in the breeze and my breathing becomes slow—I am at peace.
Looking at the stone, I wonder. I wonder what memories the area has for him. Did the flowers remind him of his garden? Did the grass invite him to lie down and read? I feel at home in this place that isn’t my home, but is the home of the stone and the man the stone represents.
Elizabeth’s family misses her. That’s why her grave is decorated with pin wheels and colorful streamers. That is why her still living husband has the plot next to hers with a tombstone with his name and no Death date. That is why more than a decade after her passing she still has flowers decorating her grave. That is why when I sat on her grave, I felt the urge to apologize for invading her space, even though she was four feet below me. I would like to think that her kids and husband still think of her when they eat her favorite desert or hear her favorite song on the radio. And that when they come to this grassy patch, and hear the cows in the background, they can feel comfort knowing that it is these nuances that make us human, not our BMI and hair color. So even if she didn’t have a foundation named after her and she didn’t save someone from a burning building, she was significant. She made an impact on her family, who carry on her legacy. She is made immortal through those who loved her subtleties and shortcomings while she was here. Elizabeth shows us that you don’t have to be spectacular to be remembered. That whatever happens when we’re gone, we didn’t waste space while we were here.
Runes
The tombstone inscription only discernible
to the limbs of daddy long legs
and illiterate moss.
Josof Bulicek, my best guess
what your name might have been.
I know you lived to seventy-eight.
Was your death slow, creeping,
like the hundred years that stole
the last four letters in your name?
Did those around you sense it coming,
tucking away the intangible parts of you
for safe keeping?
The skeletal facts—name, birthday,
date of death— don’t hold much of you.
You died on 26 January 1916,
but I wonder about the other date,
when the world lost the last person
carrying the fractions of you.
When did the world lose the record
of your favorite shirt, the slant
of your mouth when you were angry,
your opinions of snowy mornings?
Have those bits of you outlasted
the letters in your name?
Who can remember when even stone forgets.
Today, Alpha Nu went to a poetry reading celebrating the birthday of Elizabeth Bishop in Iowa City.
I've been to Iowa City a few other times and I've always love the city. It reminds me of a smaller version of Madison. I feel that the University of Iowa is very similar to UW Madison, although on a smaller scale, as the city kind of becomes the campus. That's a really neat feeling but not quite the right fit for me. So I like going to cities like that and enjoying what it has to offer. I still want to get down to Iowa City on a nicer day, it was freezing cold today, and just stroll downtown checking out all the unique shops.
There were a total of four of us who went: me (Hailley), Alison, Sally, and Emily. Our first stop was Oasis, an awesome restaurant serving falafel. What is falafel you might ask? Well it's basically chickpeas that are soaked overnight and then ground with garlic, onion, and other spices. Put that on pita bread and you've got something fantastic. After filling ourselves up we walked a few blocks to Prairie Lights, the bookstore where the reading was being held. Prairie Lights is a quaint little bookstore where I know I could spend a lot of time and potentially money. There was a full house as other area authors read poetry and a smidgen of prose by Elizabeth Bishop. After the reading, the four of us wandered around the store until it closed, showing each other funny books or writing down titles of books we wanted to read in the future. Then it was back to Coe. All in all a very successful trip.
