(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
like crackling
shards of ice
or broken marble.
When I asked why she wanted me,
she replied that everyone needs
a mirror.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem