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Pastimes : THE SLIGHTLY MODERATED BOXING RING -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Poet who wrote (20459)	8/31/2002 5:30:19 PM
From: E	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 21057

PTSD is sure no joke to the people I know in NYC. The worst case is the one I sent you her account of (the Battery Park City people). Fleeing in the Black Cloud (they distinguish it from the Grey Cloud) was particularly horrible because he has an awful neurological disease and can barely walk. (People were amazingly kind.) But a close friend who lives on 77th Street, where they could smell smoke for a long time, and who still hasn't gone down to Ground Zero, has been in a despairing depression ever since. She has no children, and now, for the first time, is glad. Yes, she's taking some sort of anti-depressant now, but it doesn't seem to be helping very much. She used to be very funny. Now she's kind of... grim.

To: Poet who wrote (20459)	8/31/2002 5:38:13 PM
From: E	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 21057

I have a friend who sends poems to me from time to time. (He's a poet, but usually the poems he sends aren't his.) So I find one and send it back. I just sent him this one. I have a book of Stevie Smith on a shelf near the computer, so often it's a Stevie Smith poem. I love her. I'm sending it to you because the poem wasn't available online so I had to type it out into the email, so I want to get double use out of the typing! I posted this same poem long ago on Feelies, I think. Bereavement Maria Holt Was not the dolt That people thought her. Her face was full Her mind not dull She was my daughter. She had so much to do so very much And used to shuffle round upon a crutch, The younger children always called her mother, And so she was to sister and to brother Poor wretch she's dead and now I am bereft Of 60 pounds each year to fill the place she left I never paid a cent before; it is too bad, It's worse to lose a lass than lose a lad.