Hometown Obituary
Jeremy Martin
Banged the lift seats one final time, flipped ‘em all up except for one
As he’d done for
60 years. A simple life
of tidbits picked up at the breakfast counter,
day old copies of USA Today, conversations with
thousands of strangers turned friends
on the long ride up the hill.
She made her home at the top of the hill.
Nestled in the purple wisteria vine, blossoming,
burning through the shrapnel of an
unseasonal spring snowstorm, the last moments
before the cold gives way to
the green of the earth;
a day of transition.
A long, painful transition
for the ever-cosmic traveler, found in
an after-life vision, a string-tied escape.
Weekly carpools to The Temporary -
now boarded up. Her last name abandoned,
the music silenced,
the dance exhausted,
the memory enduring,
The memory enduring.
The memory of people
once known and never to be met,
to ride up the lift next to, to play all your songs for,
to hope never to become, to become all the same.
Run as far as possible - it makes no difference when
Here is where matters.
You will always be welcomed home.
In lieu of flowers or gifts,
hold on to this feeling for
as long as you can.
As he’d done for
60 years. A simple life
of tidbits picked up at the breakfast counter,
day old copies of USA Today, conversations with
thousands of strangers turned friends
on the long ride up the hill.
She made her home at the top of the hill.
Nestled in the purple wisteria vine, blossoming,
burning through the shrapnel of an
unseasonal spring snowstorm, the last moments
before the cold gives way to
the green of the earth;
a day of transition.
A long, painful transition
for the ever-cosmic traveler, found in
an after-life vision, a string-tied escape.
Weekly carpools to The Temporary -
now boarded up. Her last name abandoned,
the music silenced,
the dance exhausted,
the memory enduring,
The memory enduring.
The memory of people
once known and never to be met,
to ride up the lift next to, to play all your songs for,
to hope never to become, to become all the same.
Run as far as possible - it makes no difference when
Here is where matters.
You will always be welcomed home.
In lieu of flowers or gifts,
hold on to this feeling for
as long as you can.
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Jeremy Martin (Pomona '25) is from Aspen, Colorado. He enjoys playing the drums, wearing quirky hats, and sitting in the Coop Fountain until it closes.
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