Just so you know, when I die, you will be the only ones to notice my absence since I seem unable to shut up. Oh, yes there are a few here in the "real" world who might miss me for a moment, but it is you who have paid the most attention to my thoughts, and that means more to me than almost anything. It's you who have given me the confidence to believe, and maybe even know, that I can write. None of the men I have loved and lived with, sadly in some cases even married, have ever read a word I wrote unless it was a letter. Tom's comments on my impassioned letters were, "Nice penmanship." How insulting is that?
But many of you have taken me seriously as a writer. Fancy that. You have allowed me to help start blogs here and there for all of us solitary, unknown writers to write, and receive editorial help, to encourage, and make suggestions. And most importantly to grow and gain confidence.
So you have become a family for me, a woman with no living blood relatives of her own.
Yesterday I posted my blog roll to wish you a Happy New Year. And many of you came to say thanks and Happy New Year, and even offer words of appreciation. What surprised me most was the appreciation of a couple of men I didn't know were paying any attention at all. Dada of Dada's Daily was so lavish in his kind words. I do appreciate it.
But the words of one, thepoetryman, say best exactly what I'd hope I might wish to be, to become. This is the kind of immortality to which I aspire. And were anyone to ever read or speak a eulogy for me, these would be lovely words. So thank you Poetryman. Now I am going to publish on my blog your words without your permission. I hope you'll forgive me. But I want someone to know and remember. To be able to find this archived back at least twenty years and say...
That a Poetry Man said, "Utah,
When the wind has your breath within its throat
And the moon reaches you down within our grasp,
You enter a flame, a glimmering ember, a guide, and
We know you by your friends, whispering who you are.
When the rain drops your laughter upon our gardens
And the snow perches your spirit upon a window sill
Like a songbird warbling of our sloping lives-
We sense you; savage, tender, candid, thoughtful, loved… "
Right On, IRS!
30 minutes ago