This is a little watercolor I did for HayHouse Inc. that is in Anne Wilson Schaef's "Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much" CARDS. I am the illustrator of all of those cards. I considered my own two daughters as I painted the one above. ~Kathy
"Young Girls Who Die Too Soon - Remembering Terry "
Her name was written on a stone
Terry
in a light pink shade of sadness
for she was a lovely
but very lonely
girl
who had passed away in Spring
so many years ago now.
I guess one could say
that pink
had turned to blue
and in the early mornings
when the sun
was not yet seeping though my windows
I heard her chanting
with all those tunes
that had turned into
a purple
hue.
And me
feeling the light
that fell through shades of wonder
gave in
to sorrow.
Who would think to shred a blossom
before it could be opened?
It felt like that
whenever I missed her
and thought of her passing
on.
Sad tokens of roses and deserted vases
I will forever remember them
in closets tied fast
to memories
and a young girls potential dreams
and the gift of untitled songs.
Who would tread on that path?
The one that a girl would know
and possibly find herself in?
Not me
nor you?
Not even a startled lark
would paddle that row.
I wear a hat on formal occasions
just like my grandma used to do.
I decided later
after my last gallery opening
it was indeed an most appropriate
fashion statement
for me
to do.
Within my insecurities
I measured it
that hat
so its band fit
making me feel
as my grandma would insist upon
well groomed.
And yes
indeed
it was quite fitting
blue bonnet
in fashion I wore it
in honor of a young girl
who was never to meet a history
for she
was only doomed.
Never to know gallery openings
at all
nor paintings
that filled a room.
I cannot count the stanzas
to poems that I write
not anymore
no
but I fill a notebook and stroke its moods
that my own mind
explores.
And
into this gloom felt
it all
so overwhelmingly
intrudes.
Oft times people strike a mood
and let me say here now
that in this tale
that stride
does indeed
include
"you".
YOU made me feel too sad
and
too alone
and wanting for a girl
to rise
despite her passing
long ago.
And knowing she was not singing
anymore
beyond
a larks glistening eyes
or inside anyones heart
but mine
and maybe
her sister
mother and father.
I felt distracted
by you
and your demanding
unknowing
mimes
despite the eulogy
time signs.
I think sometimes that I might not surface
again
and I'll be that girl who died
oh
but then
sinking into my pillow
late at night
I reflect
knowing
that she had passed
in front of me
ahh yes
dying eyes.
So I charm my memories
despite a damsels
last
pitiful
shrinking
sigh.
In the morning
I find
that I am opening my eyes
again
to meet whatever that day plans.
Routine takes me ore
just like everyone else
just like everyone else...
except
maybe
a young girl I have known
except
a young girl walking
beyond
a rules exclusive ride
who meets me when I think of her
and cautions me
to walk beyond the sadness
of her passing
and my own
sorrowful
eyes.
Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
30 August 2009
Copyright 2009
