Muriel Rukeyser and I had a terrible, painful parting of the ways, so many years ago now that it seems impossible to imagine that we did. But speaking of  her recently for her 100th birth year celebration,  I found nothing in my heart but gratitude for her kindness, for her efforts to befriend a younger poet just up from the traumatic South, and her generosity in being the one adult I could count on to listen to my scarier tales of adventure, catastrophe or  bare physical or emotional  survival.
AW

O for God’s sake
they are connected
underneathMuriel Rukeyser

They look at each other
across the glittering sea
some keep a low profile
Some are cliffs
The bathers think
islands are separate like them

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