Sylvia - Poem by Don Pearson
(For Julia Howe)
As I celebrated my own dissociation
from Independence Day celebration,
a voice spoke to me,
across five decades,
from her Winter in 1963.
She called my name,
with the edgy clarity
of a pheasant in a snowfield,
bored herself into my brain
shards of ice
or broken marble.
When I asked why she wanted me,
she replied that everyone needs
Poet's Notes about The Poem
5th July 2013
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