Last June a talented young poet named Kyle J. Knapp died in a house fire. His uncle, Beat to a Pulp publisher, David Cranmer had published Kyle’s fist volume of poems Pluvial Gardens about a year before Kyle’s unfortunate death. This past September Beat to a Pulp dedicated the September Eighth issue to three of Kyle’s lovely poems.
Here at Women of Mystery I also wrote a small tribute to the posthumously published collection of poems entitled Celebrations in the Ossuary.
Today I present the opening lines of the title poem from Ossuary:
If I were celebrated The Local Poet
I would no longer reply to vague threats
For harrowing a neighbor’s cold roses
In the middle of the night.
You may have heard that David is putting together an anthology of stories written on reflections of prompts from Kyle’s dream journal. I am honored to have been invited to submit a story. The dream snippet that I selected is “the laconic dust,” which I took as a reference to Emily Dickinson’s poem that begins “Dust is the only Secret.”
Here are two sentences from the story I have written to honor Kyle:
My father had the sense to thank Granny for taking me in. My mother took it as her God-given birthright that her mother would hide the mess I’d made.
So that’s what I have. And you? What have you read? What have you written?
Terrie
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