In February, we lost a great man, Jeff Houk. If you were fortunate enough to grow up in a neighborhood with a lot of kids your age like I was, then you can relate to there being the “cool house” where all the kids congregated. That was Jeff Houk’s house and the fun swirled around him. Some of the best moments of my life occurred at his house that felt like a second home.
He was undoubtedly one of the funniest people I’ve ever met and among the most generous and welcoming. Importantly, he was also a stubborn sounding board for my own budding political and ideological beliefs about the world. That was a different kind of fun. And I have to say, when I think of Jeff, I think about Chloe, his dog, who he absolutely loved and pampered.
It’s hard to imagine my teen years without Jeff Houk and his house filled with good memories. Life happened, as it does, and I didn’t see Jeff as much through my 20s and early 30s, but he always made a point to say, “Hey!” to me whenever I did see him, and I know if I walked into his house once more, it would be that second home I never left again.
My thoughts continue to be with his two children, family, and friends.
At the memorial service, Jeff’s son asked us all to do something that has stuck with me ever since: Take a deep breath. And never take it for granted. That was profound, and it’s unfathomable, albeit a reality for a great many, to imagine not being able to breathe. Ever since then, I knew I was going to write a poem about it because that’s my way of processing and thinking through everything. Indeed, it’s taken me some time to process and mull over the content of the poem.
But below is the poem I came up with.
an inferno goes down, down
to my chest, devouring
oxygen meant for me.
an inferno I invited in
with each attempt at
a breath not there.
an inferno blue-tinged,
dancing on a grave
still unmade, unfilled.
Inhale now. Oxygen
floods down, down.
You need not worry about
an inferno.
Milam's Musings 