Michelle Burke’s poem
“Diameter” raises a bunch of “what ifs.” In the poem, she flies across the
country to be with a friend who is grieving, a friend who is wondering if there
is a there in the afterlife, and if so, if the one who died is waiting for her there.
For no particular reason, I
think of a friend who lost his wife. Well, there is a reason, but it doesn’t
matter here because, although I have someone specific in mind, I also know
dozens of other people in similar circumstances. Nor does it matter that I used
to live in Oakland where Gertrude Stein quipped about whether there was a there
there, or not.
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
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