By Jean Valentine
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
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Quickie, Adam is here, we're watching Ghostbusters (2016, because he'd never seen it, as we discovered earlier watching The Secret Life of Walter Mitty), after going out to dinner at Not Your Average Joe's with my parents to celebrate my father's birthday a few days early. Before that, I got my hair cut and colored.
The rest of my day was low-key (or would have been had it not involved two incidents of cat vomit -- one of which was all over my bed -- and a flooded basement, apparently something stuck in one of the pipes necessary for the washing machine after the cat vomit). Have a few pics from Brookside Gardens earlier this spring:
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