You remember that she was kind
it seemed beyond herself—beyond
all other wanting of this world
of angles and leverage. Her face
has no name, no one moment
saved to hang upon the walls
we pass by and would ignore
if she did not surround us all—
so infectious, she tends to feed
and please herself without trying,
her tongue upon a suckling calf
or kitten. Her open smile
and eyes in a thousand faces
you have always envied,
that touch you still, that fill
a pause prolonged for a life
and you remember her
for she was that kind.
drycrikjournal 