A Poem for a Thursday #299

Linda Gregg (1942-2019) was born in New York and raised in California. She wrote many volumes of poetry, won awards, and taught at several universities. W. S. Merwin said of her poetry, “They are original in the way that really matters: they speak clearly of their source. They are inseparable from the surprising, unrolling, eventful pure current of their language, and they convey at once the pain of individual loss, a steady and utterly personal radiance.”

I'm not feeling strong yet, but I am taking
good care of myself. The weather is perfect.
I read and walk all day and then walk to the sea.
I expect to swim soon. For now I am content.
I am not sure what I hope for. I feel I am
doing my best. It reminds me of when I was 
sixteen dreaming of Lorca, the gentle trees outside
and the creek. Perhaps poetry replaces something
in me that others receive more naturally.
Perhaps my happiness proves a weakness in my life.
Even my failures in poetry please me.
Time is different here. It is very good
to be away from public ambition.
I sweep and wash, cook and shop.
Sometimes I go into town in the evening
and have pastry with custard. Sometimes I sit
at a table by the harbor and drink half a beer.

Letter
Linda Gregg