It happened, and she

It happened.
It happened to her.
It happened to her and we are all here.
It happened in the middle of the night.
She was happy and well.
He arrived and he was beautiful.
She left us.
It was cloudy when the sun rose.
It rained and was gray.
The sun went down and rose again.
It happened.

It happened to him.
He was with her and then he wasn’t.
He loved her and waited.
It happened and it was shocking.
It cast a strange light.
Dark and glowing, her name sounded new and the same.
Dark and glowing, how everything changed that remained.

It happened to us.
There are many of us, and we loved her.
Some of us were waiting for her before she arrived.
Some of us waited a long time and were excited.
She was born.
She cried and smiled.
Her voice took shape and it was the clear sky at noon.
Some of us watched her grow.
Some of us knew her later.
We wrestled and studied and shared things with her.
We took walks and ate food together.
We played and sang.
We delighted in her.
It happened.
We all called her name.

She slept as straight as a starling pinion in her bed.
She savored the good things.
She told stories and fell asleep at movies.
She came home each day.
She laughed and her laughter was the brightest lily.
She gazed at us with clear, dark eyes.
She startled at the gorgeous dawn.
She sewed and painted and planted.
She made things with her hands. Her fingers were smooth and long.
She cooked and touched and comforted.
She spoke the truth and it was gentle.
She helped children and friends.
She helped neighbors.
She helped everyone she knew.
She helped and in her helping she loved.
She loved quietly.
She loved without demand.
She loved with all of herself.

for Peggy Jin Thrash (nee Chung)
April 13, 1977 — August 1, 2013