Spilling Over

Ceilie I forget you’re dead.
I assume you’re still
running the bowling alley,
making folks laugh while you bartend;
driving fast, talking fast
like you do;
spilling vitality all over everything.
Today makes seventeen years
and I forget you’re dead, Ceilie.
My sister with the wide dark eyes,
I miss your Trickster bag.
Can you come out and play?

And then I find a poem she wrote in 1987:

Dreamship by Ceil Kastberg

Sail away with me on my dreamship
where no one dies miserably or in prison or in pain.
Where love abounds
and everything is acceptable,
and hate has no meaning.
Sail with me and we shall be free,
free to be ourselves, as little children
saying what they feel, running naked without shame
and fearing nothing.