“For the Woman Who Didn’t Know My Name”
Like a grain of dirt a letter rises
In some old men there is a softness
in voice a hint of dust y Alabama
a bit of grit
And later in the book we come across this appreciation of dirt (and an equal art of spacing)
When I die
my manicured hands,
which have always been plump
and found keyboards necessary,
will have a fine layer of dirt under their nails,
and will be known for their slow and gentle touch.
I have planted cosmos, asters.
from “At 25, I Have Already Begun to Like Lou Rawls”
In case you missed it, there is a kinship between Kin and dust …
And so for day 2637