Even though photos of Jehanah Wedgwood are still hanging on the wall at the Sacred Grounds Cafe, I felt that she had truly departed. Memories live in those who have known her, her poetry, and the resemblance on her children’s faces. It has been a year since her death. The poetry reading series has assumed a different personality—light, humorous, at times rowdy—that of our host, Dan Brady’s.
Her presence used to fill the room, even long after she was gone. Like air, it dissipated without our knowing each time the cafe door opened and closed. I realized Sacred Grounds has regenerated. A whole new me ready to go again.* The old Druidess has let it to be so. We must remember to celebrate the new.
There were few women poets at the Sacred Grounds when I started attending the readings in 2001. So whenever one of the women stopped going her absence would be felt by the group. For about three years I was only able to attend the readings sporadically due to my work and my children’s schedules. But each time I went back I felt the warm welcome, that my fellow poets had saved a space in their hearts for me.
Jehanah Wedgwood (the hostess) aside, Eleanor Watson-Gove (editor of the Sacred Grounds Anthology), Syreia Witt, Marsha Campbell, Gaya Jenkins, Selene Steese and me were the regulars at that time. Then, Eleanor moved to Portland. Syreia Witt died. Selene quit her job in San Francisco to become a full time poet. She began her own reading series, S.O.U.P. in Oakland. Gaya suffered all kinds of ailments and moved to the East Coast. Jehanah passed away last year. Marsha stopped coming because of heart surgery and various housing problems.
Barbara Bel Diamond, the spunky dark-haired Canadian with her signature beret came to Sacred not much later after me. She had been a steady presence on the Wednesday night circuit until recently, when she began her own reading series at Sacred on Saturday afternoons. Deirdre Trian, the beautiful witch-goddess has been our iconic figure in the past six years.
There are more women who grace the Grounds now and the balance between the genders are improving. A couple of weeks ago Marsha Campbell came back looking trim and ever graceful. I realized how much I had missed her stunning poetry, her tremulous voice resulted from throat surgery and her out of tune guitar. As she walked up to the mike she was greeted by thunderous applause—a fitting way to welcome back a great dame.
Sometimes we live in magick and we don’t even know it. It is because we are mundane and unable to perceive the fantastical elements. Unlike falling in love where there is a heightened sense of pleasure, most magick is subtle, coming and going without creating too much of a stir, except when it is gone.
Jehanah Wedgwood had long silver gray hair. She sat at the head of the table at the Sacred Grounds Cafe with a piece of sign up sheet in front of her. She had sat there like this every Wednesday night for nearly twenty years. Once in a while I gave Jehanah a ride home after the reading. She lived not far from the venue but I could never find it on my own. I blamed myself for not paying attention. Sometimes I would pick her up during the day for other outings and find the street and the houses looking all together different from the night.
After Jehanah died we had a druid ceremony at the Monarch Bear Grove at the Golden Gate Park. While we memorialized Jehanah, Rodney the celebrant pointed out that he had trouble driving Jehanah home. Many hands shot up at once, as we all had the same experience. “It was because she lived in both worlds.” The magick was explained but the realm had already passed on.
