I sat here, not knowing what to say, Cate. I'm sorry but I'm not sorry. Because you're doing what you need to do. I'm sad but I'm not sad... everything I could say seems wrong. Then I found this poem by James Merrill in my inbox, a poem about the sirens of Germanic legend, singing and luring sailors...and parts of it said what I maybe couldshouldwould say: ***************************************
LORELEI
The stones of kin and friend Stretch off into a trembling, sweatlike haze.
They may not after all be stepping-stones But you have followed them. Each strands you, then
Does not. Not yet. Not here. Is it a crossing? Is there no way back?
Soft gleams lap the base of the one behind you On which a black girl sings and combs her hair.
It's she who some day (when your stone is in place) Will see that much further into the golden vagueness
Forever about to clear. Love with its chisel Deepens the lines begun upon your face.
James Merrill
***************************************
LORELEI
The stones of kin and friend
Stretch off into a trembling, sweatlike haze.
They may not after all be stepping-stones
But you have followed them. Each strands you, then
Does not. Not yet. Not here.
Is it a crossing? Is there no way back?
Soft gleams lap the base of the one behind you
On which a black girl sings and combs her hair.
It's she who some day (when your stone is in place)
Will see that much further into the golden vagueness
Forever about to clear. Love with its chisel
Deepens the lines begun upon your face.
**********************
This wild thing called Life, Girlfriend.