I got a call this morning from my daughter.
I am in Australia. She is home in Minnesota.
She wanted me to know there was no emergency but there was this:
Poet Mary Oliver died.
Knowing my heart as she does, she wanted me to know.
The melody of my soul is woven with Mary Oliver’s poetry and prose.
I was able to be in her physical presence once. She did a poetry reading in Minneapolis. The church where the event was held was full of those who, like me, came to pay homage.
I wept through most of it.
Some things are just too holy to behold.
I am far from my community and far from my books. I am far from the round table at our cabin that always held one of her books. I am left with Facebook as facilitator of communal testimony and grief and it is enough, I suppose.
The power of a soul compelled to sing is miracle.
“Instructions for living a life:
Tell about it.”