There’s a poem by Jacqueline Berger in her collection, Things That Burn, that so much reminds me of one of my oldest friends: the idea, the way it’s expressed, it’s quintessential Kristin:
…Charlotte tells me
it’s not obsession
she admires, but eccentricity,
people who fall in love with the tree
outside their window
and for this reason never move
though the floor in their flat is sagging,
the rooms impossible to heat.
A woman who holds aloft the memory
of the man who briefly loved her
in her twenties
and who still sees his image
in the pan of milk
with almond and sugar heating on the stove…
It’s a danger all the time in poetry, but especially when I read a poet in whose work I recognize elements of myself & others in my life, I am susceptible to feeling as though I know that poet (& her friend Charlotte). Anyway, go find the book, read the poem, and if you know Jacqueline Berger or Charlotte, tell them I said hello & wonder how they’re doing.