Used with permission from the editor. <\/span><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n From the Editor <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I first met Erika in 2022, when I saw her typing poems in front of Guero\u2019s, a restaurant on South Congress Avenue in Austin, Texas. I was part of a group of poets called Typewriter Rodeo, and we did the same thing\u2014typed poems on the spot for strangers\u2014all over Austin. Between poems, I chatted with Erika and was immediately struck by her energy and sincerity. She had a way with people, especially ones she\u2019d never met. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Over the next few months, I stopped by Erika\u2019s spot, talking with her about the weird but satisfying art of writing poems for strangers. Eventually, I asked if she\u2019d like to join a Typewriter Rodeo event. Her eyes lit up. No, not just her eyes. It was her whole presence. The sun is a huge part of Austin, and it may be an overworked metaphor, but still\u2014Erika looked like part of the sun was shining from beneath that hat. She glowed. And said heck yes she wanted to join us! <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The day before our event I messaged Erika, saying I was looking forward to typing with her. The day of, she didn\u2019t show. And I never heard from her. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Not long after, a friend who played violin on South Congress told me what had happened: Erika had been murdered while on a trip with an abusive male companion in Portland, Oregon. And her family was doing a small tribute that weekend, near her spot outside Guero\u2019s. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I went to the tribute, sat down with my typewriter, and wrote Erika a poem. I didn\u2019t know what else to do. That poem, and the message I wrote to Erika\u2019s family, are on the next two pages. I left the poem in the book of tributes, and eventually Erika\u2019s dad reached out to me. He gave me her typewriter (which continues to make poetry magic as part of our group), and I offered to do this book. I can only imagine how different things might have been, if Erika had been able to do that first event with us, and so many more. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Several of the poems in here include responses from the people Erika wrote them for. I hope this book honors her memory and soul, with even the slightest slant of sun she brought so many. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sean Petrie, April 2023, Austin, TX <\/span><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n From Erika’s dad <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Erika Evans: Poet, Artist, Musician, and Writer <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Bachelor of Arts, The University of Texas at Austin, 2018 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Born in Austin, Erika shared her love of literature and the arts with a delightful creative energy that seemed limitless. An avid traveler, she was always interested in a new adventure. In addition to her musical performances, song writing, travel blogs, and acrylic on canvas paintings, Erika wrote hundreds of poems during the last years of her precious life. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n In dedication to her memory, this collection is a portfolio showcasing Erika\u2019s essence and exceptional understanding of the human existence. She downplayed her unique ability to express a concept or topic through poetry, yet her work serves as a lasting legacy for all to enjoy. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The proceeds of this book will assist many other victims of domestic violence. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n May 10, 1996 – September 23, 2022 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Poems for others <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The poems in this collection were all written by Erika on the spot on her typewriter, when a stranger came up and gave her a topic. As much as possible, the original formatting is preserved. Some poems also have a note from the recipient. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Let There Be Light <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n It is time now <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n to take this walk <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n making steady paces across the <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n heavy traffic-laden street <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I dodge eighteen wheelers with <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n ease, the ambush of <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n tractors and log hauling mega <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n trucks <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n This is life\u2019s candid expression <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n of itself <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve no need to be sad <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n but I will indulge it <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n regardless from time to time <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n beating on the same old drum <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n of those preceding me <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n living out the narrative <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n remembering at times <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n that I\u2019d written it <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Chapter of Determination <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n it seemed like for so long <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n we’d been spinning idly <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n toiling away <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n without true intention or motive <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n now a certain <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n purposefulness has come about <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n a raunchy sort of turn around <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n from simple sitting <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n to leisurely swaying <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n sauntering under a moon <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n that previously was empty <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Now it’s as astonishing to live <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n every morning a miracle <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Words cannot explain the immense gratitude we have for Erika\u2019s beautiful words and having blessed us with such beautiful messages. She wrote this after I explained to her that I was going through a lot of change in a short period of time, a breakup, moving to Austin, etc. and every morning for a couple of weeks I would read her poem to myself to remind myself about something so beautiful she saw in me, that I was having a hard time seeing for myself. She was a beautiful and thoughtful writer.” <\/span><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n GoLightly <\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n step with the <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n grace bestowed to you <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n now walk faster <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n now don\u2019t listen to these requests <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n They are from some arbitrary <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n wielder of power <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n there is only one true holder <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n of all things <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n and now so generously he extends <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.lonestarliterary.com\/sites\/lonestarliterary.etypegoogle10.com\/files\/article_body_images\/04b_excerpt.png\")
Note from poem recipient: <\/span><\/span><\/em><\/p>\n