For Lady J

Guest writer Meredith Heller reflects on the life and loss of her best friend.

For Jennifer Harding Feb 14, 1966 - Sept 19, 2010

I only have one photo of you
you are sitting in my house in Boulder

mid-sentence, your hands lifted like birds
a small nest of fire burning in each palm

you’re holding court on the pillows of Esmeralda
our eight-foot long, lime green velveteen sofa

we bought at a yard sale on 5^th & Arapahoe for thirty bucks
because you said it would invite tall men to lie down 

we met because we kept seeing each other around town 
wearing each other’s old jeans we managed to squeeze into the consignment store 

you finally suggested we get together for a clothing swap 
so we could stop paying for each other’s hand-me-downs

I came over to your apartment above the old roadhouse 
and you put acupuncture needles in my arm

we dressed up for each other everyday after that, sassy cabaret-cowgirls 
in aubergine-colored jeans, bad-ass boots, vintage silk camisoles

we realized we were more sisters than we were strangers
and we were inseparable for the next five years

until you told me I didn’t know what God was
and if I had it to do again now, I would’ve just laughed at you

rather than walking away, because how could I not know
what God was when you always amazed me

you who wore lingerie under your Catholic school uniform
so you had something to smile about when the nuns beat you down

you who showed me how to afford to eat in Boulder
If you put it in a brown paper bag at the market, Lady M,

you can put whatever price you want on it
nothing major– heirloom tomatoes, organic cherries, dark chocolate haystacks

you who would call me at 10pm on trash night
and say, Come on Lady M, time to go alley shopping!

and we’d fill the back of your beater truck
with treasures we pirated from the dumpsters

you who directed me to College in Vermont
where I learned my own worth

you who asked me how I bring my poems to life and accompanied me 
to do my first public reading, my hands and voice shaking

you who shamelessly ate boxes of chocolate chip cookies
in your white silk kimono while scribbling haiku 

and your wisest words to me, Well Lady Meredith,
the rules only apply to you if you let them

I miss you, Lady J
I never got to say goodbye when you were dying

we had drifted apart and old grudges kept us that way
I didn’t find out until a year later

you came to me in a dream one mid-September night
when you didn’t answer my calls or emails, I searched you up, 

I found your obituary; stunned, 
I asked questions, the answer came too late: pancreatic cancer

I went for a walk that night, one year from the day you died, 
and I swear you came with me

said you were ready to move on 
and I was the only one you hadn’t spoken with 

and then there was this moment
when you let me to see through your eyes

everywhere I looked all the molecules
glowed like millions of tiny suns

I stood there transfixed
You said, This is what it really looks like, Lady M

and then it was over
and you were gone

and it was too late to tell you that I had seen your hands lift like firebirds 
that the scenes on your kimono came to life and danced in luminous poetry.

I wrote this poem, ‘Lady J’, to celebrate the life of my best friend, Jennifer. She was a force. A wild, mystical, rebel artist who taught me to see myself and the world in an entirely new way. She challenged everything I knew and pointed me again and again to claim my gifts and my power. When we had a falling out, and stopped being friends, it was a huge loss for me. A shadow. A phantom limb. I never really got over it. She called a few times over the years and we talked, but it was never quite the same. A trust had been trespassed. Then I dreamed about her one autumn night years later and reached out to see how she was, but I didn’t hear back. Eventually I found her obituary online. I was shocked. It was a long time before I could write this poem, before I could come to terms with her passing and how we’d lost each other, but I feel it honors her spirit and my love for her. I hope you see how she shines. — Meredith Heller

Meredith Heller is a poet, nature lover, and educator. She leads writing workshops at women’s prisons, wellness retreats, creativity summits, and online for women. She is the author of Write a Poem, Save Your Life, Writing By Heart, and three poetry collections.