Whenever a poet dies, I have the same vision. I see them in a little spacemobile tooting along the outer atmosphere, around and around the earth. They go where words go, to the airwaves, the lost frequencies.
Today, I read an Andrea Gibson poem in honor of the poet’s death on Monday. It’s a wise poem from such a fucking wise poet about how being so close to death makes life so precious, so filled with love. It’s remarkable how gracefully they did this dying dance. I have been constantly gutted these last few years of witness.
Link to today’s poem, “How the Worst Day of My Life Became the Best.”
Elizabeth Gilbert’s Letters from Love, the Andrea Gibson edition. Scroll down for audio and video of Gibson. It’s really worth listening and watching.
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