walshcaitlin

I asked a women named Sonnet
director of a poet's palm conservancy
what it was like to be in asynchronous conversation
with someone who was no longer there
the poet had risen each day to meditate in silence
and wanted silence for his mornings planting palms
now many unpublished manuscripts were being found
(as were many loving post-its from his wife Paula
working around his need for morning silence)
and his late-life handwriting was slowly, painstakingly
being decoded and transcribed
was it like finding seeds waiting like time capsules
for someday growing in the forest floor
or was it like being haunted

She spoke of the hundreds of books needing care
after decades' nurturing in that humid house
opening a book of eastern philosophy almost beyond saving
riddled with holes from book beetles' eatings
and finding on the next page a note in the margins from the poet
addressed tenderly to the beetles, saying
'you can have the binding, but please leave me the pages'

The palms he spent his life planting
and the poems he spent his life planting
and the pages of all those silent mornings seeding words
we are eager to hear now
may they continue growing in their season
may William and Paula Merwin's names stay living on our tongues

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