Nisha, Feb. 25, 2014

A friend and coworker of mine passed away yesterday. I wrote this as a way to let out some of my thoughts and emotions, but also as a way to honor her. We worked together at the University Journal student newspaper, and she was one of our news editors. This poem, along with other thoughts by people on staff, is going to appear in the newspaper tomorrow. Yes, we still put out a paper. After all, the world of news doesn't pause, even for those times when a person's world stops turning. So here's to you, Nisha.


Nisha, Feb. 25, 2014

She had a way of making me forget

she was a smoker. Electronic cigarette,

a pen-like object she used in the office

to become a dragon lazily breathing out fumes.

Naturally curly hair pulled away from her face,

feet propped up on the counter,

she showed me the reason why smoking

was once seen as sophisticated and classy.

She used to laugh about how she

was the only person here who spoke Farsi,

a language she learned in the military

but had no civilian use for, except

to write in that Persian alphabet

from time to time, letters that were

nothing more than pictures to me,

intricate doodles on a sheet of paper.

I heard the news last night —

Nisha Hood died today.

I can’t seem to remember when I last saw her,

or what we talked about.

Work, school, plans, no idea.

So I choose her final impression:

An exquisite, confident woman

in a cream peacoat and black boots,

laughing and smiling with her eyes.