by: Marie Howe
The last time we had dinner together in a restraurant
with white table clothes, he leaned forward
and took my two hands in his and said,
I'm going to die soon. I want you to know that.
And I said, I think I do know.
And he said, what surprises me is that you don't.
And I said, I do. And he said, What?
And I said, Know that you're going to die.
And he said, No, I mean know that you are.
_________________________
I recently was introduced to the work of poet Marie Howe. I had read some of her work before and liked it, but I had never read her in earnest. For the last week or so, I've been searching for her poems online, watching videos of her poetry readings. She has become my new favorite poet.
In my addled mind, her poems calm me for some reason. Speak to me deeply through the fog and dark.
Saint Marty is a new Marie Howe fanboy.
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