32 years ago today, Mt. St. Helens erupted in Washington State, killing 57 people, including one of my dearest friends, her husband, and her two young children. Barb was always full of laughter, always saw the funny side of life.
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The poem below was written shortly after her death:
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Mt. St. Helens on May 18, 1980
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(In memory of Barb Pierce Morris Seibold, 1947 – 1980)
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You laughed above the heads
of those who couldn’t see
your wings,
but those of us with vision
always flew along with you.
Even in the rain
you’d soar above the mud
with a smile and a wink.
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But just this once
your takeoff was too slow.
St. Helens grabbed you
in her smoky claws,
and with one spicy belch
she burned your wings away….
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I found a bird
the cat brought in,
buried it
in forget-me-nots.
I heard your laughter
rising from the dust
and then it flew
to the curlicue clouds.
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(c)1980, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
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For another “Barb” poem (written 2-1/2 months before she died): https://raindancepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/08/28/down-moon-river-on-a-cement-slab/
Seasonings 
It is hard for me to believe it has been that long…I suspect you loss is still felt as strong as before from time-to-time…peace be with you.
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Charlie, thank you. It’s hard for me to believe it’s been that long also – it’s still so fresh in my mind. Barb was like a sister, and I do still miss her. Yet whenever something funny happens, it feels like she’s still nearby, laughing hysterically (as we both used to do) – and I think that she is.
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Betty, I am so very touched by this poetic ode to your friend, forever blooming in your heart. I do no think I could have written such a tribute so soon after losing my own best childhood friend. I have such clear memories of when Mt. St. Helens erupted in 1980, the last year I lived in Mississippi with my growing children. I still have my own dear friend. I pray for the peace of the souls of your friend, her husband, and her two children. I pray for comfort for those surviving family members and other close friends such as yourself.
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Thank you for your kind thoughts, Granbee. It’s weird to think how fast the time has gone. She and I were both 33 that year – and next year another 33 years will have gone by. My kids were the exact same ages as her two kids (7 and 9), and now…. where did the years go? For some reason, that’s comforting to me – the faster time goes, the more I realize there really isn’t any such thing as time and there is no separation from those we care about. Does that make sense?
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Beautifully written, yet such a sad situation. I was a kid at the time, but I remember it well.
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Thank you, Fergie. You must’ve been around the same age as my kids back then…?
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This is a very moving and beautiful tribute, Betty, and so very sad…I was newly out of high school, but remember it, also…so sorry for your loss~xo
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Lauren, thank you for your thoughts. (Did you live on the west coast, by chance? Or to the east? I remember the ash cloud circled the earth and many areas across the country had a light dusting of ash – seems so surreal now.)
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This is a beautiful poem, Betty. I like to think of poetry as the manifestation of one of the purest forms of emotion from our souls and, as such, linked inextricably to everyone, across all dimensions. I’m sure she adores your words and the link you strengthen when you think about her or write with her in mind. And I’m sure she now has beautiful wings! As you say in your reply to Granbee, there is no separation – I’m with you on that. But I do know that sadness can be a part of not having that person’s physical presence around. Much love to you, Betty.
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Angela, thank you for your comforting words.
I think of poetry the same way as you do… it makes us “present” to each other in ways that are hard to explain – but we feel it intuitively. Sadness takes on a certain sweetness over time – and there is joy in just feeling such strong, loving emotions.
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How beautiful… and poignant, Betty. I remember this well, but of course, it’s all so much more personal for you. Well done.
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Thank you, David – I appreciate that. (It’s good to hear from you!)
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Hi Betty,
This is a beautiful poem. I am sorry that this event took so many lives, and your dearest friend and her family. I don’t remember it happening, but I did see a documentary about it years ago, it was horrific.
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“She burned your wings away”, and “curlicue clouds”–these especially touch me, Betty. I am sorry, again, for your loss–it would have been nice for her to be here now for you, more than “just in spirit”–though I realize that aspect is no doubt powerful in your life, heart. God bless you.
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Caddo, thank you again. And yes, the “just in spirit” has always been powerful… and I know she just wants me to keep laughing and move on from any sadness. (Back in college, she had a saying: “as long as you can brush your teeth, you can smile”! So I do…. 🙂 )
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My hands reach out to touch your shoulder , across the ether. I am sorry for your loss thank you for sharing your story Betty. xx
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Hi Willow – thank you for the touch, and your kindness!
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Beautiful and such a loving tribute to your friend. She seems to be a powerful presence still, felt in every line of the Poem. I love these,”Your laughter rose
from the dust and flew to the curlicue clouds.” There is something rather wondrous about the word, and image of “dust” after the death of a loved one. It is the most humble substance yet also a most sacred form of matter. Love to you, Linda
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Linda, I agree with you about dust. There is “cosmic dust” and earthly dust, mundane dust and sacred dust. (“We are stardust, we are golden….” – Crosby, Stills and Nash.) It can be a symbol for essence, that condition prior to manifestation – and after. Thank you for your insights!
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Yesterday was graduation here, Betty. The medicine men led the administrators, United States Education Secretary Arne Duncan, our speaker, the faculty, and the students into the crowd of parents, grandparents, friends, and other family, and the joy of ceremony with its sacred fire beside the hogan and the whiteness of the huge tent contrasted against the deep blue of New Mexico skies, sang of life.
Then, this morning, Ethel and I together read this poem. What strikes me this moment is that these two images, the joy and the deep sorrow, each happening within the flow of time that never ends but is always ending, is emblematic of all of our too short lives. A mountain, deep inside its rock bones, gathers fire from the earth’s heart and explodes, ending your friend’s life and the life of her family, affecting her childhood friend who happens to be a great poet so deeply the memory of the moment and laughter shared echoes through time. The poem, in turn, affects others who read it with all of the intensity gathered by the poet’s art and beauty, and it mingles in with memories of a blue sky and Navajo people gathering inside a tent of triumph and joy that puts aside poverty for a day and lets people believe in a future that has seldom been in the past. And both images are part of who we are as human beings–who we are as humans living in the human family within the tent of our own time upon this glorious earth.
How do you react to a poem like this? To me the poetry of loss is both personal and universal, telling our story, the human story, in ways so memorable that the color the day they are confronted with the faces and breaths of our living loved ones and the faces of those who have lived and breathed and laughed and winged far beyond our knowledge or ability to know.
This is a poem that can make any poet humble, Betty, and I honor you and your friend for its existence.
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Thomas, I enjoyed hearing about the graduation ceremony. An emotional time for everyone, no doubt – and with that sacred fire and the white tent. And I love how you contrasted it (and correlated it with) my poem, creating a synthesis of added depth. We have our joyful events – and their other side: the sorrowful ones.
The human condition: we’re all one in this, facing all facets of life at once – in different ways, different times. It brings us comfort to share – and I think poets are especially blessed because we open up our souls and communicate what is closest to our hearts. And then we don’t feel so alone.
I almost didn’t post this poem, afraid it was too self-indulgent, dwelling on a grievous event that happened decades ago. But time is nothing – at my age, 50 years ago seems like just a short time ago. (I’m still a giggling 9th grader, deep inside. 🙂 ) Thank you as always for your kind and gentle comments!
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I am glad you posted this poem, Betty. I am not sure that anything that touches deep into our lives is self indulgent. I am just always amazed at how long you have been creating great poetry. When I first read Ethel’s poems I was so amazed. How could anyone write that well? I feel the same way about many, many of your poems.
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I beautiful epitaph, Betty. The last laugh never ends; it is never-ending.
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Thank you, Ben
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I remember the Mt. St. Helens eruption well as it was obviously front page news here in Australia and I knew of the great loss of life but your poems (I read the other one some time ago) bring a more human perspective to the tragedy.
I have recently wrote a few poems about the destruction and death and injury wrought by cyclone (hurricane in your part of the world) Tracy in 1974 where I had personal experience of the immediate aftermath.
I think it is good that we can record our feelings and experience of such events in poetry. I’ll be posting mine in the near future.
Thanks for these poems Betty. 🙂
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Dennis, I’ll look for your cyclone poems (am behind on reading blogs, but will watch for those!) I appreciate it that you remember the Mt. St. Helens eruption – that it was in the news all the way down there.
And you’re right about the value of recording our personal experiences with these events. Sorry, I don’t remember your Cyclone Tracy from 1974 (guess I was too busy with two babies back then!) and would like to refresh my memory. No doubt I can google it!
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Make that “written”. I must check before hitting that button. 🙂
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Ah, I NEVER make mistaks!! 😀 😉
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I am so sorry that you so tragically lost your friend and her family, Betty. I think it is remarkable that this was written not long after. For it is not weighed down with grief but lifted up by the laughter and playful spirit of your friend, into memories and eternity.
The last stanza is so exquisite…really speaks of the immortality of the spirit.
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Diane, thank you for such kind words. This was written about 4 weeks after Barb’s death, so I had a little time to process… but there was so much humor between us, and I kept having dreams of her coming to tell me not to be sad – in essence, to keep laughing. That was how she lived her life. And this literally happened – I found the dead bird in the yard at the exact moment her memorial was starting miles away (too far away for me to attend) and I actually did take it out and bury it in a garden of forget-me-nots. It was one of those synchronous moments – like she was there, and I really could hear her laughter. (We always had a psychic connection….)
Thank you again!
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What a lovely remembrance. So wonderfully written! ❤
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Thank you, Deborah. I still miss my friend Barb. Can’t believe it’s been 38 years now.
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We never stop missing the ones that left too soon but what a blessing to be a poet who can use our gift to honor them so that they are never forgotten! ❤
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❤️💕
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