On our way to the bus stop to meet the poet from Cebu and St. Louis, Lilith and I ran into the man who reads my books. We'd met in the cemetery a while back, so I told him the cemetery is going to hell, what with downed trees and fired staff. "I believe in enjoying the moment," he replied. "I hope things work out in the end." They'd found a mass in his kidney, said he could live with one only. So he's enjoying his life, still has both kidneys.
The poet from Cebu and St. Louis got off the bus and crossed Hui Iwa Street. I introduced him to the man who reads my books, who asked if the poet is in them. "Not yet," the poet said. Lilith had greeted the poet as if he knew her, and was happy to receive the other man's blessings, as well.
After dinner, the poet from Cebu and St. Louis looked at my books on the shelf, made from Philippine mahogany by my husband. He pulled one out whose font he liked. "It looks lighter than the others," he said. "Well, except for the pieces about gun violence," I responded.
In Portland once, a poet introduced me as the woman who "goes into the DARKNESS." Oh tell me, where is the light?
No comments:
Post a Comment