Sunday Stack: Hearts, Stretched
"In the end, I want my heart to be covered in stretch marks." ~ Andrea Gibson
I started this as a stand-alone post when I learned of the poet Andrea Gibson’s passing on Monday, then a work conference took me to Connecticut for a few days. And now here we are on Sunday, so I’m wrapping it into my Sunday Stack.
“In The End, I Want My Heart to Be Covered in Stretch Marks”
You know how there are some souls who have a way of saying something so beautifully profound, so exquisitely powerful, with only a few words?
Andrea Gibson was exactly that kind of person.
You would read one of their poems or Instagram posts and your heart would seem to do that fluttery skip thing it does, as if it’s saying, oh, that’s so good. I need to remember that. Where’s my pen, let me write that down.
I’m finding it hard to write this tribute without tearing up. Part of this is because it’s so damn unfair—they were only 49 years old. I didn’t know Andrea personally, only through their work. If you’re unfamiliar, I like this description found at the beginning of their collection, Take Me With You:
“Andrea Gibson is one of the most quotable and influential poets of our time and has made a career at the forefront of the spoken word movement. Gibson (they/them) regularly tours, performing poetry that focuses on gender norms, politics, social reform, and the struggles LGBTQ people face in today’s society. A devoted fan base sees Gibson’s work as a rallying cry for action and a welcome mat at the door of the heart’s most compassionate form.”
The news of their passing this week—fucking cancer again—hit me a bit harder than anticipated because of the timing.
Someone—I wish I knew who (maybe you, Lisa?)—recommended Andrea’s poetry to me around this time in 2021. My best friend Cheryl had been diagnosed with brain cancer at 53 and I was in deep anticipatory grief. Andrea had just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I followed Andrea on Instagram. Put their books on my TBR list to read “at the right time.”
This week my Facebook memories reminded me of the four-year anniversary since Cheryl’s diagnosis. As if I needed reminding of the heart-sinking call, arriving at the exact time I was getting ready to go to a memorial for another beloved friend, gone at 50. (Fuck you too, ALS.) The hospital. The exhausting six-hour drive back home the next day.
Feeling slightly ghoulish, after learning of their passing on July 14—poetically fitting, also International Non-Binary People’s Day—I downloaded all of Andrea Gibson’s books from the library. (It’s me, hi, I’m the problem if you’re on hold for them from the Allegheny County library system.) Over lunch, I opened Take Me With You.
“We have to create. It is the only thing louder than destruction.”
“Any feminist who has ever taken the high road will tell you the high road gets backed up and sometimes we need to take a detour straight through the belly of uncensored rage.”
“Wake me when the American Dream is over.”
“Even when the truth isn’t hopeful, the telling of it is.”
“I explain my gender by saying I am happiest on the road when I’m not here or there, but in between, that yellow line coming down the center of it all like a goddamn sunbeam.”
“For Halloween I’m going to be emotionally stable. No one is going to know it’s me.”
“You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.”
“Let me say right now for the record: I'm still gonna be here asking this world to dance. Even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet. You, you stay here with me, okay? You stay here with me. Raising your bite against the bitter dark, your bright longing, your brilliant fist of loss. Friend, if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other, my God that is plenty. My God that is enough. My God that is so, so much for the light to give. Each of us at each other's backs whispering over and over and over, "Live. Live. Live."
I’m heartened at the many tributes to Andrea that I’ve read here on Substack and elsewhere, and—again, I don’t know for sure—but I’d like to think they’d be humbled, maybe even a little surprised. Their Substack—Things That Don’t Suck, named and launched right before their cancer diagnosis—will continue onward by their wife Meg, also a poet and writer. It is well worth reading, especially the most recent two posts.
Connecticut
As I mentioned earlier, this week included a work trip to Connecticut for a conference. Before flying home, I had lunch with my friend Heather who I’ve known for 20 years, give or take, ever since our mom blog days. Friday was the first time we’d met in person! Had an amazingly delicious lunch at an adorable vegan place, ION Restaurant (it stands for It’s Only Natural), where we talked for two hours. (I would include photos of the food but my laptop is being difficult, as always.)
Currently Reading
Still reading the incredibly prescient Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler, as mentioned in last week’s Sunday Stack.
Take Me With You was the only book I finished this week. The conference was great but exhausting so my bedtime reading in the hotel was nonexistent. And with taking a total of four flights, I thought I’d have more time to read but that didn’t happen either. I quickly DNFed two books in midair, gave up, and watched an episode of Chopped.
i'd never heard of them before last week and now i don't know how i lived without their work.