I’ve read half-way through
your book of poems
that arrived today
I am holding it now
to my breast
and sobbing
with gratitude and a
sadness I cannot identify
I stroke the shiny cover as I sob
a poem is always
my favorite gift to get
and here is a bookful
I feel you in your now-times
the words spilling out
making pictures of your now-on-now
the march of nows slowly stealing away
your tomorrows
like mine I guess
I guess that’s why I’m sobbing
grateful and furious
that you reveal me
so nakedly
© Vilma Ginzberg, 01-18-2022
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