I wanted to read
Mary’s poems
In light of her death
And then I remembered
They are all packed in a box
Marked y’s books
My books
My special books
Poetry and non fiction and fiction
Dry books of theory and consequences
Light books for fun and sunny days
Long literate books coaxing me into another world
Reminding me that others have inhabited this dimension
Short inspirational books of wisdom, reverential musings
And sightings of the sameness of us all no matter what we
Look like or smell like or like to eat
Novels of current times past times of worlds never existing
That bring me to my knees in fury and laughter and longing for another
World so like the one in my mind
In those boxes Mary’s poetry is carefully packed
Until I am able to place her back on the bookshelf
Where I have the privilege to take them down, to re-read to cry to smile to laugh and to wonder how it was that she could say all the things my heart has wanted to say
And how well she says these things and how well I hear them
1.17.19
(c) 2019 — yk miyazaki