When the Quiet Carried Color

Some poets write for applause.

Andrea Gibson wrote so people would survive.

This is my tribute to them

and my personal response as someone who once whispered pain into pages

and found courage, because they shouted it first

You didn’t just write poems.

You cracked chests.

Let the light pour through.

Then showed us how to name the blood.

You said:

“I want to write poems that save lives.”

And I didn’t understand

until mine almost slipped

through unheld fingers.

You read like a pulse.

Like a hand gripping yours in the dark

saying,

“Stay. Stay. Stay.”

Your words were not metaphors.

They were matches.

And I was cold.

So this is my reply

from the garden I built

on the ashes of everything

I never got to say.

I speak to my flowers now.

I tell them I am trying.

They nod. They bloom.

They forgive.

You said silence was a scream in slow motion.

I say:

It is also a language the petals understand.

And when the wind carries my name to the lemon tree

I swear I hear your voice in it,

not loud,

but honest.

Some days, I still carry the grief like a backpack

too big for my shoulders.

But now

I stop in the garden

and unzip it slowly.

Let the bees take what they want.

Let the sunlight dry the rest.

Let the soil keep the story.

You gave us that.

Permission

to feel without apology.

You’re not gone.

You're planted.

In every poet

who no longer needs to whisper.

And this poem

it’s not an ending.

It’s just another garden

that grew

because of yours

If Andrea’s words ever kept you warm when nothing else could,

write something in their light.

Even if it’s just one honest line.

They made space for that.

For all of us !!!!