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10 responses to “grieving the Loss of Mary O”
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A friend just posted this on FB and I thought of your forest floor{
Sleeping in the Forest
by Mary Oliver
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.LikeLike
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Michelle Slater this was also my thought. thank you for posting. Grace, “her pockets full of lichens and seeds” comes to me in so many of your posts. Mary’s words live on.
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Fly free beautiful poet, true heart
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window screen, offering a view into and out of your room
a basket filled with scraps of fabric, a crow
a tin box, a pair of scissors and thread spools
green and yellow light
more unidentified objects, no matter
we rememberLikeLike
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From the New Yorker (also made me think of you): Oliver lived a profoundly simple life: she went on long walks through the woods and along the shoreline nearly every day, foraging for both greens and poetic material. She kept her eyes peeled, always, for animals, which she thought about with great intensity and intimacy, and which often appear in her work not so much as separate species but as kindred spirits.
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if somehow we could have known each other, i know. Without a doubt, we would have been best of friends
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adrift, to think of her death
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She will…she will Fly Free
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she is IN me. Has been, and, more so, Now
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i can barely stand the Beauty of this
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windthread 
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