Wendy Negley, Poet

     My grandmother, Edith Rosetta Stefani Kells, died Nov 21, 1982. She had big brown eyes and my mother always told me that I had her eyes. When my daughter, Devin, was born she also had the same big brown eyes, "my grandmother's eyes." After she died I wrote this poem for her, focusing on the eyes and the continuance of life as shown in the eyes. My daughter's daughter, my granddaughter, also has the eyes! Oddly, my own eyes changed color when I was 40, they are now hazel and at times, green. But my daughter and granddaughter still have my grandmother's eyes. My Grandmother's Eyes My Grandmother's eyes in the old school photos so solemn, from hard work and sorrow. My Grandmother's eyes in a moment of love, so soft, unaccustomed to softness. My Grandmother's eyes in her last years of life, so weary, in pain closed forever. My Grandmother's eyes, in my own daughter's face, so eager, my Grandmother's eyes live forever.  My grandmother a

      Bill visited me in June 2020. I thought that he was planning to officially propose but when he didn't I thought perhaps he couldn't afford a ring. So, since I was concerned he'd leave without doing it, I asked him. He got very angry with me and it seemed that he had a lot of considerations on rings and didn't want to have anything to do with them. He said that men and women are from different galaxies, not just different planets and that mine was far, far away. We settled this all out and I asked him if I could buy my own ring. He said sure. So I did that and the wedding ring, as well. I actually found a Scientology Marriage Service which didn't include anything about a ring! I reconsidered whether I wanted to marry him for a bit! But I did. I found rings at a very good price online and have worn them ever since. I wrote this poem as my response to his communication. In it I mention "magic always comes in threes" which I believe is from a book I love

    I fell in love with Bill in1991 but I was married, I loved my husband and children so I didn't want to have an affair or get a divorce. We went our separate ways and didn't meet again until 2009 and 2010 briefly and only as friends. I pretty much put him out of my mind. In 2015 Bill was in Las Vegas and I was in San Francisco but we had a phone conversation which very much put him back in my mind. I realized that I didn't really have any pictures of him (I had one photo which was a full staff photo that he and I were both in from 1990.)       Bill and I were able to get together in 2020 after my husband died. I made sure to take a picture of him then. We were soon engaged and I got the photo printed out and framed and put it on the book shelf by my bed. Bill was still in Las Vegas and I was now in Beaverton, Oregon. One night I looked at the photo and realized that I was grinning widely just looking at it. Thus the poem was born. I think that there is much more power to

     February 14th, Valentine's Day, 2020, I flew to Las Vegas to spend it with Bill. We got engaged that weekend. The plan was that he was going to wrap up things in Vegas and move to Oregon and we would get married. This was targeted for August 2020, as his lease was up August 1st. Then March 2020, the pandemic hits and everything is shut down. Bill and I were in frequent text and phone conversation and proceeding as planned. One evening I talked to him and he said that he was tired. The next day I couldn't reach him. I freaked out worried that he had gotten COVID and what if he was lying alone in a coma? A little silly as he had a roommate so he wouldn't have been completely alone. Next day I reached him and nothing was wrong. I just had let my imagination and all the bad publicity about the pandemic take over. Thus I wrote the poem:      Love in a Pandemic      Here I am as I've been told      Sheltered from the rain and cold      I wash my hands with lots of soap  

      One night in February 2018, my phone rang at midnight. It was a woman from the Emergency Room of Kaiser in Seattle. She called to tell me that my sister was there and they had just discovered that she had a brain tumor. I told her I would be there the next day. My husband made plane and hotel reservations for me and I took the first plane the next morning. Rhonda told me that she had had odd sensations and memory loss-she couldn't remember her computer passwork at work for instance. Her boss sent her home and told her to call her doctor. Her doctor told her to call 911 as she thought it might be a stroke. It wasn't a stroke, it was a brain tumor. They took her in for an operation to do a biopsy and remove any of it they could. I went with her until they wheeled her into the OR and told her I'd be there when she got out.      They told me to wait in the lobby so I did with the help of some Starbucks coffee. After 2 or 3 hours the surgeon came out and talked to me. He t

     My husband, Bill, reads most of my poetry (in fact, he is the one who encouraged me to publish it.) I often tell him the story behind the poem when I show him a poem. He suggested that I write the stories as well. They can enhance someone's understanding of and appreciation of the poem.      The first one I will do this with is a short one without a title. The first line is "The dying leave us." This poem came after my sister died unexpectedly in 2018 and my husband died more expectedly in 2019. I would think of something I didn't quite remember well or wanted more data on from my childhood. I'd think "Rhonda would know!" and go to call her or email her and then realize she's not there. Likewise, there would be something I would want to ask Dennis or just tell him. And, again, I would realize that I can't ask him. Really the wort part of someone dying is that you can no longer communicate with them. You have the memories and you still feel a