Letters from home
That’s what poems are.
We are migrants from
somewhere that loves us.
Poems come from there.
News of a death,
news of a birth, both
in one letter. We want only
the truth, and nothing
held back. Things that
have come to pass,
and dreams held fast.
Read them again;
read them over again,
softened with time
in the shifting dust
of this foreign place.
— Ruth Mowry
(how did you know?)
ReplyDeletelove, Love this!))))
xo
erin
So glad, Erin, so glad, thank you.
DeleteI absolutely love this, Ruth. I don't know if this is a new work or an earlier one, but it's sensational, full of truth and light.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, George. I wrote this last year and posted it at synchronizing, after contemplating aubades.
DeleteYes....
ReplyDeletePerfect. Thank you.
Thanks, my friend.
DeleteSomehow this feels so comforting, Sister....
ReplyDelete