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 ...