She, Rose

I remember Africa. I remember laying on my back, looking at the sky. The stars are far closer in Africa than any place I’ve been.

And I remember Rose.

I remember where I was the day I heard she died. Maryknoll, New York.

A long voice over a phone line. She was gone. Car accident.

Three days later, I remember sitting in a classroom. How do you teach? How do you teach a class about peacebuilders when one of the best ones you ever knew just died. So I read a little poem I’d written. I only read a part of it. And I started to cry and I couldn’t stop.