Jane Dougherty wrote a poem as a response to my note.
I lost my breath, and it didn’t return until now.
There is a dark, quiet magic in her words. Something that reminds me of what I have lost. What was taken from me, she carries it.
All I could do was read back what she created. If this were a battle, she won with the first three words. But it isn’t, and I am proud she wrote these lines that mattered so much to me.
Please read the original work on Jane Dougherty’s Substack.
If it reaches you the way it reached me, reply to her post. Then forget my echo of her work, and ask the hollow dusty dearth. Who knows?
