Rare Friendships: "Yet America is a poem in our eyes..."

When she comes home to visit, we do a lot of sitting together

or watching things together

or being in the same room as we read whatever it is we are reading at the moment together.

Those pauses in between the occasional words exchanged are where all the poems in the world gather to sing her praises.

And when she speaks, I learn more in that second than I could in a year

Like if that piece of writing worked

or how art filled the walls of a museum

or what to say when someone, looking at her name tag, asks her what kind of name that is

"American." she answers.

Five generation of her ancestors dance around her joyously,  and I know what to say when I get asked the same thing.

**
Related Posts:

A Poem Becomes Her

The Poet