Sunday, February 13, 2005


Ken had an unusual way of holding a pen.
I watched his fingers form a grip
and thought that it looked

I thought of his hands,
reaching out.
I thought of his soul
reaching out.
And I thought of his coming out
and wondered if it had been

Ken had a wonderful way of holding my attention.
I watched his face go red
from breathless laughter
as he told his stories.
Here a duck, there a crab,
and stewardesses, nay, flight attendants,
and grade school kids who BOTH got to go home
when one had puked on the other.
And I thought of his having drunk
a contact lens from a hotel glass
after his date had asked him
to be sure not to do so.

I thought of his humor
reaching out.
I thought of his love
reaching out.
I thought of his breath running out
And I know now that he is
at peace.

Copyright by Ron Hudson, 21 February 1994. Revised 13 February 2005 by Ron Hudson. Originally read at Ken Hudson's Memorial by Friends, Camp Weraqueera, Little River Reservoir, Durham, NC, on February 26, 1994. The original poem was printed, laminated and sewn onto Ken Hudson's Names Project Quilt Panel by Margaret Kelley, Cindy Koenig, Bonnie Ford and Ron Hudson. Although Kenny and I share the same last name, we were never able to establish a familial link.



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