Friend,
You came in a dream, yesterday --The first day we met you showed me your dark workroom off the kitchen, your books, your notebooks. Reading our last, knowing-last letters --the years of our friendship reading our poems to each other, I would start breathing again. Yesterday, in the afternoon, more than a year since you died, some words came into the air. I looked away a second, and they were gone, six lines, just passing through. for Adrienne Rich
Copyright © 2013 by Jean Valentine. Used with permission of the author. |
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