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Chuck Forester, Poetry Reading,
June 15, 2001 Opening Night
Photo Ryan-Michael Riel
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Chuck Forester
Michael and I lived together for many years
as the front and back covers of the same book. Between them were
myriad stories of a cabin in the redwoods, a trip on the Orient
Express, a hundred evenings naked in front of the fire, acid trips in
Arkansas, elegant dinners in New York City, and a gala fundraiser for
the Hormel Center in the Library. Even at my most egotistical, I
could never have imagined a life as rich, or a love so unconditional.
For eighteen years I pinched myself to remind myself how lucky I was.
I am a Midwesterner, a little reserved and
needing to understand. When Michael died, I cried. I cried for most
of four months because I couldn't
understand. To recover my reserve I observed myself, as if from a
distance. Just as I had marveled at the wonders that I encountered
daily living with Michael, I watched myself suddenly deep in anger,
fighting back enormous frustration, and being cruel to others. I
could not stop feeling sorry for myself.
I was most unworthy. I went back to work to
find a purpose for getting up in the morning and a reason for people
to pay attention to me that wasn't
pity. Eventually, I edited Michael’s wardrobe and threw away his
business records. I returned a box with old photographs to his first
lover. Somewhere, in the fifth year of grieving, I became self-sufficient.
I entered into the “Queer Widow
Project” not knowing what it would mean or what I might
contribute. Working with men of enormous talent and strength of
personality, I was able to continue growing and honor Michael.
Working on this exhibit has helped me realize my voice as a poet, and
has reminded me how present I am in the world.
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