Another breathtaking gift you imparted to us, Kendall. I will say, I do believe your background being so immersed in nature has contributed to this natural ability for you to tell us what you notice--I never would have known about squash blossoms and honeybees. But now that I read this from you, I will pay attention.
Thank you, Jeannie! Isn't that the most wonderful image? I only recently discovered the hand-holding honeybees myself, and it moved me in the most wonderful way. I actually got goosebumps. This was the catalyst for the poem, and the rest took shape around it. I do love how nature pulls that out of us.
I usually start my day writing, not reading. But I saw this pop up in my email, asking to be read. And I gladly and joyfully obeyed. So beautiful Kendall.
Kendall, your poem is a gentle, luminous meditation on what it means to witness and hold grief—both our own and that of those we love. The way you move between images of loss, memory, and tenderness—blood swirling away, lovers in Pompeii, honeybees holding hands—creates a tapestry where darkness and beauty are inseparable.
Your lines about wishing to gather up what is slipping away, to anchor what feels uncontainable, resonate deeply. There’s such compassion in the desire to be a steady presence, to offer gravity and warmth when everything feels fragile and on the verge of unraveling. The poem’s closing movement—accepting that sometimes it’s the darkness itself that binds us, and promising to be the anchor through the night—lands with quiet power.
Thank you for reminding us that even in the press of darkness, there is care, connection, and the possibility of light. Your words are a gentle companion for anyone navigating the shadows, and I’m grateful to pause here with you and the community you’re nurturing.
Thank you for the tender and attentive way that you ingest these poems, Jay. You picked up the threads that I was weaving, and it is so wonderful to have someone hold them up and proclaim that they are resonant. I'm so glad to be a companion in the shadows here, and will continue that good work. What I receive in return is also a deep fellowship, and it means the world to me. xoxo
My god do you have a way with words Kendall. This was beautiful. I feel as though your words press up against the ineffable in such a way that I can feel it, know it, in a more intimate way. :)
Another breathtaking gift you imparted to us, Kendall. I will say, I do believe your background being so immersed in nature has contributed to this natural ability for you to tell us what you notice--I never would have known about squash blossoms and honeybees. But now that I read this from you, I will pay attention.
Thank you, Jeannie! Isn't that the most wonderful image? I only recently discovered the hand-holding honeybees myself, and it moved me in the most wonderful way. I actually got goosebumps. This was the catalyst for the poem, and the rest took shape around it. I do love how nature pulls that out of us.
Wow, that imagery was the catalyst for your poem! And it was the one that spoke most profoundly to me. Love that, Kendall.
Beyond words. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Leah.
I usually start my day writing, not reading. But I saw this pop up in my email, asking to be read. And I gladly and joyfully obeyed. So beautiful Kendall.
I wish you a lovely Sunday.
Oh, to be the source of your joy! Thank you, Andrea. A lovely Sunday to you as well.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Beautiful ♡
Gawd, Kendall. Beautiful. Such incredible imagery. I felt your heart all the way through. 💜
My heart to yours, Janine.
Oh my stars. The Honey Bees. The hand holding HONEY BEES. But also the opening stanza- in the bath. Thank you. Been there. <3
The honey bees, right?? Is there any better image? And I see you with the tub, friend.
Kendall–kindred kin–
sleeping bees–linked– dream kindness.
Hold hands in darkness.
Kindred Kin, indeed! xoxo
"The remembering is going to be the thing that carries us all through this."
Oh my heart. Thank you for this.
I'll keep reminding you ;)
I love this so much!! AND YOU 🩵🩵🩵 I can’t get the image of the bees out of my head. It’s bringing me great joy 🩵🩵🩵 Thank you!
The beeeees! This is also my new favorite thing. Also only the males hold hands, so maybe there's hope for all of us. 🐝💛
Kendall, your poem is a gentle, luminous meditation on what it means to witness and hold grief—both our own and that of those we love. The way you move between images of loss, memory, and tenderness—blood swirling away, lovers in Pompeii, honeybees holding hands—creates a tapestry where darkness and beauty are inseparable.
Your lines about wishing to gather up what is slipping away, to anchor what feels uncontainable, resonate deeply. There’s such compassion in the desire to be a steady presence, to offer gravity and warmth when everything feels fragile and on the verge of unraveling. The poem’s closing movement—accepting that sometimes it’s the darkness itself that binds us, and promising to be the anchor through the night—lands with quiet power.
Thank you for reminding us that even in the press of darkness, there is care, connection, and the possibility of light. Your words are a gentle companion for anyone navigating the shadows, and I’m grateful to pause here with you and the community you’re nurturing.
Thank you for the tender and attentive way that you ingest these poems, Jay. You picked up the threads that I was weaving, and it is so wonderful to have someone hold them up and proclaim that they are resonant. I'm so glad to be a companion in the shadows here, and will continue that good work. What I receive in return is also a deep fellowship, and it means the world to me. xoxo
🙏❤️🥰
Kendall, you’re writing, your heart your memoir your poetry touch me in the deepest places. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Nina! It means so much that you shared this here. I'm deeply honored. xoxo
My god do you have a way with words Kendall. This was beautiful. I feel as though your words press up against the ineffable in such a way that I can feel it, know it, in a more intimate way. :)