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

17 January 2019 — For M.O. thank you

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