About 2 years ago, I read a story so painful to me, I was affected in the deepest levels of my mind. I read and wept for 5 hours on a dark, moon-lit night, into the wee hours of morning. Two years ago, I was given a gift. And I would like to share its momentum.

Jennifer Sloan died Sunday, May 16, 2004. For her, a release from mind's hell, for us who knew her, a mix of denial and sorrow, and relief of sorts, for her.

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Black Bird...Fly
by Moongem

I met a black bird one dawning day.
She was bleeding, her plumage
in tatters. Her eyes, oh, god,
her eyes had seen so much,
they were dulled, though not blind,
defaced by embittered kind.

I read this black bird's shocking story,
and I cried, openly wept,
offered my salted saddened thoughts,
hoping to repay, somehow, humanity’s debt,
what others had ripped from her, without respect.
Her innocence and trust
I could not find, for they had died.

Fledged by despair, wrapped in acid thorns,
she tore herself open, poured her blood
into my heart. I was shaken.
Her agony became a weighty gift.
I felt bitterly blessed, painfully spliced.
She unknowingly changed my life, that night,
as I experienced her crippled mind.

I held the black bird to my light,
whispering love to calm her fright.
I wanted her to see her beauty,
with untainted sight. She sighed
as she explained to me what would not be.
I crawled within her dark black wings,
swept her close, and hopelessly grieved.

I heard my black bird sing her dirge,
slicing winds with tormented words,
her memoried eyes glittered with tears,
her spirit bleak with horrible fears,
yet, she shined so bright. I promised her
I would continually reach for skies
she could no longer see. And I wept.

She hadn’t told me she was going to die.

Erin Moen
2/28/04
© Copyright

Jenn's deepest wish was to have her poems, scribbles and experiences become a book. Myself and a few others from the PoetryPages compiled, edited and published her book in the last few months with Jenn's help, though she was weak and dying from cancer. It's title, "The Ravyn: Riding the Cyclone". Published by Lulu, it is available to mature audiences.

http://www.lulu.com/theravyn

or

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?userid=2WRWP3KUE4&isbn=1411607015&itm=4

I also have a link to her website on my bio page here at AuthorsDen for anyone who would like to read her story there.

In closing, I share this piece I wrote this morning. Jenn's story is powerful, poignant, horrible, shocking, brave and, overall, so human. I will miss her *s*(her way of smiling), the smile you felt in your mind and heart. These were her last words to me, in a private message.

"all hugs are most welcome erin *hugz* i really don't have a time frame ... i guess without treatments ... which i have halted as of march 21st ... it could be months ... or it could be years ... i'm going with years ... but i have a sinking feeling it will be months ... please know that you need do nothing for me ... you have already done enough just by being who you are ... a kind word and a smile are worth more than the contents of every bank vault in the world combined twice over ... and these you have already given freely ... and i will thank you forever ... be at peace my friend ... and perhaps someday we will meet ... beyond the sund'ring sea"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appended 3/6/05

Because my user-name is Moongem at the Poetry Pages, Jenn called me 'Moonie'. It always made me smile. PP has gifted me by giving me an honorary 'moderator' title, with moderator abilities, on her forum, 'The Ravyn's Nest'. I visit, occasionally, to 'talk' to her, tell her I think of her, and see her in the sky, never on the ground, in the form of clouds. Whenever I visit, I cannot help the tears that spill down my cheeks. It is nearing a year since she died, and I am just as affected by her life now as I was then, the difference is she cannot 'comfort' me when I would write her of my terrible sadness I felt for her life.

I miss her, her spirit, and her beautiful *s*, still.

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Not This Time
Dedicated to Jennifer Sloan

I look ahead to future-colder, Bird.
Your past presented filled me with hot fears,
for sanity seemed skewed, from what I’d heard.
And now, Ravyn sings no more. Damn, the tears

scorch my cheeks, eyes continually weep,
though she scolded us not to mourn. See you,
World! How compassion and need cannot keep
a tindered spark alive? Salted eyes, do

you view her in blue-bold skies? Want to fly,
by tying your heart into tangled wings?
So many things are left unsaid… How high
can desolation reach? Unheard life brings

complacency. But not this time, Black Bird,
all will read the pain carried in your words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This piece came a few hours later. When you have cyber-friends, you cannot be there physically, can only wonder how there lives are going in reality's time. Had I been with Jenn, still my thoughts would be of hers.

I Wonder Your Thoughts As You Lie Dying

I wonder your thoughts as you lie dying, love.
Did your memories pain you still? Once,
you had told me you accepted your death,
but I knew you were scared. Scared
to stay alive in a body scarred by kind.
Did you hate them still, love? I do,
and I ever will, they, who savagely spirit-killed.

I wonder your thoughts as you lie dying, love.
Did you hate yourself, still? Scarred
and bound by ugly bars of another’s hand,
you felt ashamed, dirty with filth.
Did you see his face in your daughter’s smile,
and the savaging continue, commandeered by self?
I felt you cloak your eyes, love, lest pain overspill.

I wonder your thoughts as you lie dying, Jenn.
Did you feel the love that you held? Shocked,
we gathered you close, felt heart pounding still
with fear, not of death, but of living.
We leaned on you, who passed on comfort,
wryly smiling; still, you held. I hope you find
serenity, love, for alive, I never will.

I will think of you when I lie dying, Jenn,
as my heartbeat slowly stills.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Photo by Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 5/20/04