by Judith Meyerowitz
(In Memory of Sylvia Brill)
Tall woman, classical smile
You sweep me into poetry
It is your voice that takes me
hushed, sultry.
I want you to read forever
You bring me into the poetry group
Via black holes and reminiscences of Chicago published in Voices
We walk to Thirteenth St.
I slow down to meet your cane
Soon we are chatting in that hole of a West Village restaurant
With the warmth of home cooking.
Blackened pots and pans lined up for our review.
You had soup.
You told me of the Vermont house with garden, now sold
Of your small apartment with renovated kitchen
Your love of Rome
You sound young
I imagine that we are undergraduates
It is still the sixties
We are excited by poets and writers
I wish I remembered more the films you liked, the study groups you led.
But the warmth remains
You say goodbye–not yet
Chat about poetry for a while.
The cane out of sight
I walk on
Your voice stays in the air
And carries me
Judith Meyerowitz has published both poetry and prose in Voices. She began to write poetry after participating in LP2 groups.