- Jennifer M. Caron of Colchester, 37, passed away 
	on May 24, 2022. Jenni battled cystic fibrosis her entire life. 
	She received a double-lung transplant fifteen years ago, 
	and her gratitude for that selfless, anonymous act 
	was immeasurable. It gave her, and us, an additional 15 years.
				May 17, 1985—May 24, 2022

-We love you so much.

This evening
anyone who is able
will remark on 
the exquisite dusty chalk of dusk
summoned by their imaginings,
while others can only bow their heads
into the blackness
and weep for you.

I see you romping and smiling
through the elegant forest
engraved with more
lean lines than could ever be
cast by the finest pen.

I am reminded of Robert Frost – 
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees - 
that’s when I hear your delicate laughter
and I overflow with the knowledge
that I will never again find you.

~~

Remember those years
we shared the theater?

I can still see you backstage 
in the quarter light.
You’re lying under the blankets
of an old mattress
meant to be a prop.
We had sheets, blankets,
a bedspread, pillows -
a real bed made 
from donations by supporters
of the Theater Program.
Our theater – the place we called home.

The cast of Seussical,
more than one-hundred strong,
was on the other side of the curtain 
punching out the lyrics 
to Biggest Blame Fool,
lead by Sour Kangaroo.

They got so loud 
they went up and over
the 50-piece orchestra,
but above all this hullabaloo
all I could hear was the clattering
of your lungs,
the grinding of your breathing.

~~

I lift you like a newborn
avoiding what I can barely see—
backstage is nearly entirely dark
but I make out the
piano, instrument cases
all over the floor,
the eyes of the tech crew
meeting mine, 
glistening with tears.

On the other side of the curtain
the cast is fully alive
buried in the applause of hundreds
as the band surges louder.

~~

You tremble with coughing
deep within your little bird chest 
which rattles.

We negotiate the set shop
heaped with the remnants
of past shows – 
an ancient stove from Streetcar…
a tiny rowboat from Alice…
shelves and shelves of paint cans
each one still full to the top
with memories,
and we slip out
the side door.

It has begun to snow.
I hold you more closely
in this dark and alien planet,
black night visible behind
the sidelong wind-blown blizzard
as if whipped by Typhon himself
out of misplaced vengeance.
	 
You look up at me and shudder—
unsettled, your tears come
as the snow rages,
beginning to accumulate.
I cannot find my car.

~~

I keep toxic thoughts of the future
to myself.

I hold you, my precious, precious Jenni 
and wonder

Where will we ever find lungs
at this time of night
and in this weather?