Andrea.
It drizzled.
The muggy fog closing in.
There I stood, panting from my run toward the cliffside in need of some refuge.
I looked left. Right. I headed for the colossal boulders edging the tide’s constant.
Sweat clung to my clothes.
My feet shuffled along the shore, a thousand rocks beneath my heavy step.
A singular roundness of white.
It beckoned my hand.
“You okay?”
I lifted you toward the fog.
“Go on. Watch me fly.”
I sprung you.


You pierced the fog, popping its surrounding oppression.
A seal’s head appeared on the horizon.
The ocean, once an oyster, cracked open, inviting my body in for a drink.
Was it you, Andrea?
Telling me, “What are you waiting for?”
I abandon my shirt, shoes, socks.
The water drank, encasing my emerging vessel.
A baptism of grief.



I rose, bringing a hand cup of water toward my face.
A splash of mortality.
I cried.
Death brings me to the ocean.
As if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do in this life.
Gibson.
-s.g.
No one edits my writing. I’m no expert in language use and word order. I ask for your grace if you stumble across any errors or mistakes in my written pieces. The same goes for my voice recording as I may mispronounce some words. On both counts, consider it part of my art; an imperfect expression plucked from my heart and placed onto your screen. Consensual hugs.
Spence, I appreciate this tribute to Andrea GIbson. When they served as Poet Laureate of Colorado, I learned of Andrea's remarkable poetry and their LGBTQ+ activism. Thank you for honoring Andrea's life so well.
It is so hard when we lose such a beautiful spirit so young. May we all continue to honor their legacy. Well done!