What You Are


Someone read this to us in Latin
at writers group tonight, translating
as the living do for the dead, as she
does for her lover who no longer speaks,
who lives in a memory care unit down
the street, who once danced and laughed
with their little dog. And tonight I get up
and do what must be done, disassemble
the books and bookcase, get the giant
photo of Willa Cather ready to pry loose
from the wall. I do this because we, all of
us, must be free to go where we go, in our
minds or on our feet, our little feet, no one
would believe could climb such mountains!

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