Family Narrative by Cami Park
There was food and we ate. When we were tired, we slept. We don’t remember anger or confusion, but sometimes, fear. The times we were thrown into the air and waited to be caught.
I am these boxes and hands.
The first thing they noticed when
They landed was
Precise in the distance
An envelope ready to fold.
The eyes of their hosts.
Convex spoons reflecting nearby fires.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Passing: Cami Park
I'm extremely saddened to learn--from Reb Livingston's No Tell Motel blog--that talented writer & critic, Cami Park, has died. Cami's poetry, prose, and essays can be found in myriad places, including the current issue of Wheelhouse Magazine (one of her poems from the issue, our personal favorite, is reproduced below). She was simply one of the kindest people I've worked with. She was one of the first folks who supported me as I turned from performance to more sustained writing when I fell ill, encouraging me to contribute to Night Train (the first place my poetry appeared outside my own notebooks), at which time she was one of the poetry editors. And likewise she was an early cheerleader for Wheelhouse Magazine & Press. From what I've come to know this generosity, passion and care was not isolated to a few people, but is indicative of who Cami Park was. We at Wheelhouse send our condolences to Cami's friends and family.