Tag: poetry

Andrea Gibson: After Life

“I am happiest on the road, when I’m not here or there, but in between, the yellow line running down the center of it all like a sunbeam.”
–Andrea Gibson

I was not familiar with the work of dynamic spoken-word poet Andrea Gibson until after they (preferred nonbinary pronoun) transitioned in July 2025 from ovarian cancer. In November, I happened to see the trailer for a documentary film about Andrea called Come See Me in the Good Light. Next, I stumbled upon a clip of their friend Tig Notaro reading part of Andrea’s poem “Tincture.” Moved to tears, I found the entire poem online and read it through twice, continuing to weep. The kind of tears I had never experienced in quite the same way before: sorrow simultaneous with celebration of life. Andrea’s poetry encompasses both of these in extraordinary ways.

Thus began my hours-long journey across the web, watching every video I could find: Andrea’s poetry performances; Andrea and partner/wife Megan Falley (also a poet) being interviewed; Megan revealing her own feelings after Andrea’s passing; the trailer from the film and the song “Salt Then Sour Then Sweet,” sung by Sarah Bareilles and Brandi Carlile (with Andrea’s words) at the film’s end. Andrea’s website (andreagibson.org) showcases their vividly diverse poetry (lyrical, incisive, humorous, loving). The first poem I heard/saw was “Love Letter from the Afterlife,” written to Megan. I was audibly sobbing by the fourth or fifth line. I’ve listened to it many times since, and it still feels like the most beautifully wise poem ever written. I have been reading poetry all my life but have never run across any quite like hers.

Andrea’s words bridge life, death, and eternity seamlessly, using details recognizable from my own life, from everyone’s life. It all flowed together perfectly as I listened, crying at the heart-wrenching pathos and absolute splendor of life on Earth. Sadness and joy as one inseparable experience. At the end of the afternoon, I felt as if everyone I had ever known had died and come back to life. All at the same time. Everything inside me and outside me as One. That may not make logical sense, but that’s the best way I can describe the experience. Even my tears held the precious poignancy of all life in them.

And then there’s the film. After hearing/seeing all these pieces of Andrea’s life and work, I watched Come See Me in the Good Light, where it all comes together in an extraordinarily honest, funny, and beautiful telling of their (and Meg’s) journey with cancer. Once again, loss of life and love of life are presented as one experience in a way that is both heart-breaking and heart-opening. They share what they went through (for several years) with such vulnerability, humor, and loving sweetness. I laughed, I cried, I felt what they felt right along with them.

 Andrea’s description of coming to inner acceptance and neutrality about so much that had previously “mattered” struck a chord in my own life (I lived through breast cancer a few years ago). They felt parts of their “identity” fall away as they settled into soul awareness. Nothing was as important as the present moment, fully lived and appreciated. I still hear Andrea’s deeply expressive, musical voice at their last poetry performance in Denver in 2024 (shown in the film), the entire theater as one, cheering, laughing, crying, immersed in love.

I believe Andrea Gibson came to Earth to erase the dividing line between life and death. Between all dichotomies, actually. A perfectly nonbinary life and afterlife. Woven into the tapestry of the universe with precisely orchestrated timing for humanity’s deeper awakening. Thank you, Andrea, for your love letter to us all.

“Love Letter from the Afterlife”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmZHLvq-gDg

“Acceptance Speech After Setting the World Record in Goosebumps”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XK-hb_bjqU 

Trailer from Come See Me in the Good Light: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0B8sjxR7Mo

Rose of Sharon art above by Anne Katzeff

My Parents’ Voices

Spirit lives everywhere, beyond time and space, life and death. It lives in present-moment awareness and in memory. It lives in the voices of loved ones who may no longer be living, reaching out and touching our hearts across the years. Every time it snows, for instance, I hear my mother reciting the first lines of James Russell Lowell’s poem, “The First Snowfall,” as she did at every new snowfall throughout my childhood: “The snow had begun in the gloaming,/And busily all the night/Had been heaping field and highway/With a silence deep and white.”

She was with me early yesterday morning as the snow fell in its silent beauty. With such simplicity, she taught me to love both Nature and poetry. And an added surprising gift: when I looked up James Russell Lowell online, I found that he is buried at Mt. Auburn Cemetery, my favorite spiritual/nature sanctuary in nearby Cambridge. The threads of Spirit were woven from my Illinois childhood to the magical hours I have spent walking through Mt. Auburn in quiet wonder among the trees, listening to birdsong.

I also have a vivid memory of my dad in later years sitting in his armchair and reciting these lines from William Blake, his voice breaking with emotion: “To see the World in a grain of sand,/And a Heaven in a wildflower,/Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,/And Eternity in an hour.” Those few deeply poignant lines embody for me all of life. And it was my father who first shared them with me, moved to tears by their beauty (as I am now). My parents are both with me, vivid and alive in these treasured poems and the accompanying memories of their voices and their presence.

Thus are we moved through our lives, touched by moments of connection with those we love and who love us. Touched by the natural world around us in all its magnificence. And spirit lives within each of those moments. It carries us forward through loss and pain, even when we feel most lost and alone. Suddenly the sun falls on your face as you walk in shadow, or a friend makes you smile in spite of sadness. Life is all of this. Spirit lives in your tears and your laughter. In each moment we hold it all within us, the memory and the vision before us now.

When we remind ourselves to keep our hearts open, it all flows seamlessly as one beautiful unfolding. I have not lost anything or anyone; it all lives in the spirit of life of which I am a part. A remembered voice or shared moment is a tap on the shoulder by Spirit so that we do not lose our way, and we realize fully how much a part of the universal intricately woven tapestry we are. Nothing and no one is lost. We live in the eternal “I Am.” Infinite consciousness forever expanding and filling our lives with spirit.