April 11, 2025
Woke up to this, made myself get to the Y in this wet white stuff.


Dad taught me poetry

Read to me

Sat with me

Read my adolescent voice 

Never made fun of it.


But you taught me new verse 

You taught me the names

On your Holy bookshelf 

New form, new stanza

Voices that echoed my thoughts.


Now I’m cocooned in poetry

4 nights this week consumed

The woman who knows those names

Floats in their words, swims

With their tongues.

Loves you between the pages. 

 

Tonight was Candace's book launch.  It was great. It's a beautiful book published by Slate Roof Press.  

Its titled The Sound of Her Good Name, Candace Curran.   I have had such a remarkable week of hearing writers read.  My week has been cloaked in loosing a friend which always places me in a type of  almost paralysis, where I'm not really processing my world in actual time or motion, everything is in slow motion and a little brighter than it should be.  I have been embraced by poetry all week long.  Candace was a wonderful way to end my week.   



I feel so very different than I felt a week ago, although I am aware it is all about feeling strongly.  I'm glad I feel as much as I do, but I'm telling you, sometimes it makes me think I am floating through my life like i'm suspended by a giant red helium balloon bouncing up and down in slow arcs.

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