In my bedroom I have corners —

in my head I have corners —

dusty unused guitar, spliced keyboard laptop, mental handcuffs.

I have mist in my mind.

For hanukkah my mom gifted me

a blue-green package, wrapped with a bow:

seeds for empty wine bottles,

basil or thyme curling around the memories.

She knows I cannot waste anything.

I can grow bright purple irises.

I can grow octane gasoline and amethyst;

I can grow swollen nights on balconies: I can grow gritty teeth from

concentration, from perspiration, success; I can grow mechanical pencils;

I can grow mittens for when my neighbor is cold.

Just as he taught me. I read his manuals.

I have never played that guitar. It sits in that corner.

I have made checklist appointments I do not keep

to play. I think of my dreams--the way they dangle

like the promise of mistletoe.

On the mistiest of nights I think of Sandy,

tearing through fog at 60mph, capturing dreams like butterflies bicoastal;

I think of how I write to detangle and so did he.

I have planted seeds

And I will grow them.

Clear-eyed.

I play one chord.

JENNIFER GLASS

Paired With: Frederick “Sandy” Phillips

For Sandy

My name is Jennifer Glass. Since I was a little girl, I have had a passion to write, and my favorite thing to write is poetry. This poem is for Frederick "Sandy" Phillips. Sandy was a 27-year-old who returned to schooling after several years of work. He studied in the School of Management and served on the Student Government Association. He self-taught himself guitar and collected crystals. He enjoyed basketball, racquetball, and golf. He loved purple irises.

Strikingly, Sandy was a poet, and I got the opportunity to read his poetry, including a collection he titled "You's" to represent the ways he experienced others. He was truly gifted with words. He was clearly able to tap deep into the empathy and compassion he so readily displayed to others. Stories I read about him focus on this spirit.

I have written this poem to explore how we, by living our lives to the fullest, can inhabit the best parts of those lost too soon. Sandy's gifts inspire me: he drank every drop out of life. He may have been taken from us too soon, but his spirit is everlasting. We can live his spirit every day. This poem is for him.