WHEEL, a Seattle organization of homeless and formerly homeless women, holds a Women in Black vigil whenever a homeless person in Seattle dies alone outside. We've held eight vigils since January 2000, for a total of 11 people. Six of those have been homicides, none yet solved, and two suspected homicides, not yet determined, or solved.

Wednesday we held vigil for Kathleen Bowman, age 35, found dead on Friday August 10 under the bridge near 1st Avenue & South Michigan Street; a suspected homicide.

I'm glad we do this. I wish like hell we didn't have to.

I've written poems after our vigils before. This time I wrote about my own mortality.

I will not ask you not to cry
though most of you will know that I
have gone to Glory leaped into the light been embraced by Gaia
moved on to my next body next level next planet next lesson
or become a small red puppy.

Even when spirit still sings to spirit
when skin is parted from skin bodies must cry.

I will hope that my writing friends survive me
and strangers, reading their fine elegies
will think, "I wish I'd known her"
and feel a moment of regret.

It would be nice
if all my books went into reprint
the media published retrospectives of my life
and somebody famous wrote an unauthorized biography.

I would like to imagine my friends
marching on City Hall
shouting, "Her spirit is with us!"

I would like
my name on some small thing
a shelter perhaps
a scholarship
or an all-night coffeehouse with a library
where anyone can stay up all night and write.

That someone might say, "She made a difference."

But most of all
I hope someone remembers putting up tents in the rain
making snow-angels on Mount Rainier in July
watching all-night Dr. Who marathons and eating brownies
my holding your hand all night when you almost died
you sitting by my hospital bed when I didn't know you were there
speak fondly of how crotchety I got
or try to share jokes that only we two understood.

The only thing that kept me here so long
was the bond woven of moments and touches
over and over again
from one single heart to another.

Please God I be remembered
for many small things.

We fight revolutions so that one child can laugh
while blowing dandelions.