For Friday, January 18, 2019:
For those who don’t know, beloved poet Mary Oliver passed from this mortal plane on January 17th from lymphoma. She will be missed, but at least we have her words still. Let’s honor her, her life, her words by taking walks among the oaks and beeches, on the beach, along the edges of a pond, by listening to a grasshopper and a bear and the deer, singing with a mockingbird, whispering to the geese as they fly to heaven.
… When it’s over, I want to say all my life/I was a bride married to amazement …
Mary Oliver (1935-2019), ‘When Death Comes’
For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, some-thing as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.