Was also my sister.
We thought of ourselves as like Mary and Martha –
Not so much as character likeness,
But as the personal friends to Jesus –
As seen by Jesus.
We sometimes even had twin experiences.
I thought Jesus loved us so and defined us so
As His true friends,That He would surely raise Iris from her deathbed
As He did Mary and Martha’s brother Lazarus
In the nature of His heart so turned towards them.
I even dreamed a sequence of events
That foretold Iris being resurrected out of her sleeping berth
From where she spoke that she had not died, but still lives.
I expected to see her rise and come forth,
But it came to be only a perplexing dream.
Or an event taking place in the spirit realm.
Or perhaps something I don’t yet wholly understand.
(Though I am getting there….)
Iris was truly the very best friend I ever had.
We shared an unconditional/agape love –Without restraints,
Without judgments,
Without reservations, jealousies,
Or circumstantial considerations.
They say when God takes something or someone dear,
He replaces it with another of equal or greater value
Or substance.
Not so with Iris.
She has been and is irreplaceable.
There has been no one since,
To share my heart openly and complete,
Or my secret thoughts with.
There has been no one to sit, as we did in the Algonquin Lounge,
And talk endlessly -
For hours ‘til closing.
Because we were such favorites,
The staff would let us stay long after hours,
until they had cleaned and vacuumed around us.
We sometimes picnicked in Central Park
And took in the likes of Shakespeare with Den..ZEL, and
Madame Butterfly,Or jump rope matrons, the drummers and skaters and the like.
We have danced in the Village ‘til dawn,
Dined in the elegance of the Plaza’s Palm Room,
In the breeze on the waterfront,
Or a dive in Harlem.
And many cafes and diners around town,
Smoking Marlboro Lights –
Me with my wine or coffee,
She with her hot chocolate.
We worked in the theatre and it was a special love.
We also sat by the river and discussed, Sometimes in heated debate,
Themes on the rivers of life’s unending streams,
Our own desired ambitions and dreams,
We would consider and chew the fat over the ins and outs
Of history’s ills,
View and spew on social society’s heady behavior,
Challenge biblical inspired doctrines,
And question religious and philosophical thoughts and ideas.
The point of writings and art forms,
Mull over the considered truths and possible lies
Of what we knew and didn’t know to be so – Or not.
We would ponder the relevance of film –
Experienced memorable movie moments like “The Color Purple.”
Much discussion followed that one.
There has been no one quite like Iris
To laugh and cry and share thoughts on longing or desire
For love and to be loved by whosoever it was to be
Or who we wanted it to be.
No one to be utterly silly with –
(Well, with the exception of Isaiah and Jasmine or Nessa
I must say).
When my granddaughter, Jasmine, was born,
There was no other person I could considerTo be her god-mother
But Iris.
Who gave her the gods-names “Dunamis Exousia” –
Greek words meaning – “power and might of God
And the “authority of God.”
It was a specially memorable occasion
When she was blessed and named on her first Thanksgiving.
She was given to Iris for her naming, passed to my mother,
To me, Richard, Billy, Michael, Judy
And then to her mommy Vanessa.
We each said words of blessings and prayer over her.
Iris was Jasmine’s god-mother in every sense of the term.
Which she accepted with the greatest honor,
With pure joy and abounding love.
I can see her face even now upon my child.
She was not with us when Isaiah was born
But she would have surely adored him too.
I miss Iris everyday.
I think now of her dying.But I will tell of her living.
She could be pompous and proud, full of airs.
Walked with the stride of entitlement,And driven to be someone of recognized importance –
Being the “King’s kid” and a member of the Chosen sons.
She was and is one of the “sons of God to arise.”
Who the whole of creation awaits.
Iris was smart and articulate,
Courageous and nonplussed by the bias and prejudices
of men.She belonged wherever the soles of her feet were placed.
She carried dignity as her fortune
And the title of mighty as her fate.
Manhattan Isle was her primary base
The great metropolis her home and birthplace.
She gathered the concrete stones around her ankles as bracelets
And strolled its treacherous paths like an eagle on wings –
Her long braids slung down her back
As trestles of the warrior princess –
In season and out.
All the while singing praises to the Most High
Under the precepts of the Holy anointing on her brow.
To God be the glory!
Iris was my friend and sister
But she was also my mentor,And I was the same to her.
She made me better, stronger,
And braver than my substance.
She taught me lessons I did not know,
Tales I had not heard,
And she was all that was good in God.
She was all joy to know.
She was light and love,
Her living was as gold and silver and precious jewels.
Iris’ death was a tragic lost,
But her living was a glorious gift.
Thank You God for the gift of life shared.
The flower, “Iris,” takes its name from the Greek
work for
Rainbow –Referring to the wide variety of flower colors.
In Greek mythology,
The goddess of the rainbow,
Regarded as an advisor and guide,
Who traveled the speed of the wind,
Could go from the bottom of the sea
To the depths of the underworld.
She was represented as a beautiful maiden
With wings and robes of bright colors
And a halo of light on her head,
Trailing across the sky with a rainbow in her wake.
Also, the flower of the Sphinx is considered to be an Iris.
My dear friend, Iris, was as such a many-colored flower
Or radiance and beauty.
I will treasure our friendship…. Our sister-ship always.
Love you, Iris
(I also want to take this opportunity to thank my
other
Dear sister-friends, Freda, Genera, Janice, Brenda,
Adrienne
And Vanessa who have stood by me faithfully in my
work.
Your love and support is a blessed gift. It has meant moreTo me than words can express.)
