I heard some amazing poetry on public radio last week. Terry Gross interviewed Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno, a poet whose daughter was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. After her daughter’s death, Kathleen wrote a collection of beautiful, poignant poems, recently published as Slamming the Door Open. One reviewer called her poems “spare, unflinching, and powerful.” I couldn’t agree more.
Death Barged In
In his Russian greatcoat,
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.
He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers
by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.
Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table
as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed
between us.
Even as I sit here,
he stands behind me
clamping two
colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down
and whispers to my neck:
From now on,
you write about me.
What I’ve been musing about is the beautiful “space” that Kathleen created for herself during this time of intense grief. Writing the poems created poignant, beautiful space, that she could then share with others.
During the last two years, a friend of mine has had both breast cancer, as well as a brain tumor that has paralyzed one side of her face. This friend is quite young (in her fifties) and her illnesses have altered (not surprisingly) the course of her life. But instead of being “beaten” by them, the illnesses and severe physical problems have “opened” her, they have opened up space inside of her. She wrote to me, “Illness has opened a door in me to see and in that gap I have found a spaciousness.”
In Getting Messy, I write about third space, or what I often call imaginal space. Both of these two women found (created) space within their tragedies—space that allowed them to see more clearly. Space that’s beautiful and inspiring to others. Perhaps the challenge is how to create that sort of beautiful, “opening” space when we’re not immediately addressing something tragic or traumatic…
