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Join Peter White Public Library in celebrating reading, literature, and the diverse people who make up our home in the Upper Peninsula.
March 11, 2025: Gala Malherbe, "Dear Helen"
Dear Helen
for Helen Haskell Remien
When I backpacked Isle Royale in the spring,
you were starting chemo. I scoured my moments
on that island, searched for treasures for us both,
used all my senses as if they were yours
to take in small details as miracles, as gifts:
shadow of wildflower, design of tree bark,
reflection of myself in a river stone.
How I wanted to give you that island,
carry it home to you on my back,
unpack the pebble beaches and silent sunsets,
the chest deep ferns and wild winds.
I wanted to lay it all out for you
in your living room beside the hearth.
And I knew if we could,
we would set the moose free in your backyard
to snack on the seeds you poured
from your sawed-off milk carton.
Perhaps, your deer would greet these island moose
nonchalantly with wide doe eyes,
then step aside, make room for the novelty
of broad-shouldered guests, dark chocolate muzzles.
The warblers would spring from my pack
like confetti, land on your ring-fancy hand,
tip their small heads back, sing to you
with open-beaked abandon, their wispy bodies
so close, you would see each thread of feather,
the pulse of their proud little chests.
You would feel the wind of their voices
and the tremble of glory
through filament feet, clinging softly to you.
Together, if we could,
we would unpack the storm clouds,
toss them onto the ceiling,
watch all the grays and blues of the universe
swirl and churn above us.
We would hear the crack of lightning,
the deep rumble of thunder, and then
we would dig deeper, unleash seven sunrises
all at once to dance on the walls like fairy sisters,
fly out into the night like fireflies.
We would need to rest, you and I,
because all this awe would bring us to our knees.
We’d pause every now and then, close our eyes
and breathe. We’d breathe together
in that audible, deep cleansing way
that invites others to relax, be present,
be perfectly alive in the simple miracle of now.
That is what I wanted to do, Helen.
I wanted to bring you that island.
Gala Malherbe lives and writes in Marquette, Michigan, where she draws inspiration from her family, community, and life experiences as well as from the lakes, forests, and seasonal wonder that surround her. She is a Yooper.
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