This month I am thinking about the life of an exceptional person, Laurel. On July 7th, 2023, Laurel Leigh passed away from lung cancer. She never smoked in her life and was healthy overall. The cancer was disguised at first as a backache. After many tests, the cancer was discovered and appeared to be in a late stage. A group of friends started a Go-Fund-Me for her. Laurel wrote about her journey on her website. She fought it for about a year, it went away, then, it came back in 2023. It came back and took her with it, too soon, and with no explanation. Laurel was a writer, teacher, and editor, who freelanced internationally. She was an acquaintance of mine that I wish had bloomed into a closer friendship. I thanked her many times. However, did she know that I saw her as a mentor and a leader? Or how much I admired her calm & polite demeanor. I wish I had told her.
LAUREL LEIGH COMBINES CREATIVE ENERGY WITH
ORGANIZATIONAL KNOW-HOW AND HAS ALL THE SKILLS
NEEDED TO TAKE A PROJECT FROM INCEPTION TO FINISHED WORK.
I CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON HER TO MAKE GOOD PROJECTS GREAT.”
—BETH WEBER, ASSOCIATE PUBLISHING DIRECTOR,
CUSTOM PUBLISHING, CHRONICLE BOOKS
She is still alive in my mind. After she moved to North Dakota, occasionally, I would write her letters. I decided to write a letter to her this month to help process the grief. It is difficult to know what to say, so, I just wrote about some good times and sweet memories. Thought I would share it here with you.
Thank you Laurel for being a leader, a teacher, a mentor, and a kick ass person!
Read the final entry she wrote, and learn more about her here:
dearwriters.com It Shouldn’t Be Long Now
Laurel,
I am very shocked that you are no longer with us. I was so happy about your cancer being in remission. I had a draft I was working on last month, and thought, “I should see what Laurel would make of it.” I have many good memories of you, Laurel. You were a great open mic host, editor, and natural teacher. You were a good person to go walking with at 11 pm around Fairhaven talking about nothing in particular.
Do you remember back around 2013 or so when a man all dressed in white appeared at random times to the Village Books Open Mic—and then a woman started showing up at opposite random times dressed all in black? They both came to listen, but neither of them read, and they never attended the event on the same night. One night after the open mic, a few us stuck around afterward and began to speculate who these mysterious people could be. What was their story? Did they know each other? Were they once married? My favorite theory was it was God, curious about the Bellingham Poetry scene.
You were so accepting of people’s poetry, regardless of skill or method. You hosted with such grace. Like, one summer evening at VBOM, when a visiting poet calmly walked up to the podium and screamed his poem which, unbeknownst to us, was a performance of peace. After screaming the words “OUCH!” 50 agonizing times, arms and legs acting out in pain, he calmly shared the title of the poem as “A Tree Getting Cut Down with an Ax” The audience’s hair flew back! We didn’t know what hit us. I’d never witnessed a performance so verbally violent utilizing one word. It was impressive. Without skipping a beat you walked up beside him, thanked him, and then introduced the next poet.
Thank you for inviting me to join you and your writing students to see your friend perform at Seattle’s Hugo House. It was a great night. On the way home, the five of us packed in the car, and we took the back road to Sudden Valley. The fog that night was so thick I thought we’d never make it. Didn’t someone decide it was a good time to share ghost stories?
In 2013 when we both became Bellingham’s Mayor Arts Award recipients I knew I was in good company. It was a dream to be recognized along with a high-caliber writer and community contributor like yourself. I have great respect for you and the love you gave to those who crossed your path.
I am so sad that you are no longer with us. I only knew you for the last 10 years. It wasn’t enough. I will hold what memories I do have close to my heart.
EYES OPEN
Here is another “reject” poem as I edit my next chapbook for submissions. It’s a special poem for me but does not fit with the collection. There is a phrase in the editing process, “Kill your babies.” It emphasizes the importance of remaining neutral when editing your work. It may have sentimental value to you, but the execution on paper was unsuccessful. Of course, it is best to have a working relationship with an editor; a fresh pair of eyes. My fresh pair of eyes these days is Jennifer, a friend, and retired High School teacher with an English degree. We’ll sometimes discuss writing and share work over a cup of coffee. She tells me she likes my laugh. Is she paid in jokes? The warmth of friendship is the inspiration for blankets.
Hope you like this dear “baby”…
Eyes Open
I awake with a dry throat
from moaning in my sleep
I’m nailed to my bed
by the sounds of one a.m.
a rustle of false blueberry bush
heavy bodies trot by with a snort
an owl in the cottonwood chimes the hour
a gaze of raccoons act out a scene
play fight under the crab-apple tree
It’s so busy outside
at night
when all I do is sleep
Here is my mood today expressed in a meme. Take care.
shannon p. laws 