To hear that a friend has taken his own life, feels like a blow to the stomach. Is there anything more anyone could have done? Guilt creeps in. Was there something more I could have done?
Now there's a gap in the art and creative scene of Dunedin. No more short, American magician on the street. Happy as Larry. No more art discussions. No more Larry poetry. Creative projects - ukelele, piano, time-lapse photos.
No more Larry anywhere in Dunedin. In the world.
I am left with memories like quick shots in a film.
Meeting Larry on a bus.
Larry reading his white poem,
his Facebook poem, his St Clair poem.
Larry reading his poems
in Re-Fuel, in Arc,
in Circadian Rhythm. Larry
in our car. Larry in the Mou alley.
Larry playing the piano.
Larry's lagniappe biscuits,
as sweet and light as air
full of snow.
Larry across the street at the lights.
Larry in St Clair. Larry in View Street.
Larry above the Starfish.
Larry at an outside table
Larry in the distance. Larry across the table.
As we sit in a Japanese cafe slurping noodles,
I spot Larry putting out his rubbish bag.
When was the last time I saw Larry?
When was the first?
Kay McKenzie Cooke