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Carmen Radley's avatar

Beautiful. I think of Ross Gay and maybe my favorite poem of all time:

"what do you think

this singing and shuddering is,

what this screaming and reaching and dancing

and crying is, other than loving

what every second goes away?

Goodbye, I mean to say.

And thank you. Every day."

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Love, Maur's avatar

I read this while eating toast and homemade jam at my kitchen table. The jam was made from Irish berries by my friend Olive and was given to me as a parting gift before she drove me to the Dublin airport. Now, the jar is almost empty, and I am sad to see the ending on the horizon. My son Liam comes through the door; he is 23 and carrying store-bought berries. How odd. What is all this about sons and berries? He once wandered our yard in a sagging diaper, pulling all the tomatoes off the vine and eating them by the handful. And now, as I take in your words, he enters with the berries he obtained by driving himself to the store. I lick the jam from my fingers. This stuff is raspberry gold, and I don't want to waste a drop. We are many hours older, and my heart hangs heavy on the vine.

Thanks for the memories. Protect those bushes.

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