Myrna and Robert in the garden of St. Mark's Church-in-the Bowery. They are sitting on a bench dedicated to the memory of Shulamith Firestone.
Robert Roth
The Biographer
Immersed in the pain,
The greatness of our long dead friend
Her biographer keeps searching
Dusty old boxes in her brother's attic
TV footage now on YouTube
Articles and books read then reread
And then there are those of us that knew her
“Yes I remember that time when...”
“That's not what happened...”
“In the middle of the night we had to go find a typewriter ribbon...”
“She sat with me all night when my mother died”
“You could hear a pin drop whenever she spoke”
“Don't believe those others; I knew her best”
“She looked so forlorn standing by that lamppost...”
Time, memory, death
All us original sources keep dying
One more died
just last week
Myrna Nieves
Glimpses: In response to Robert Roth's poem
The memory lives in the love and the shared moments
maybe not enough to subdue the pain
maybe forgotten next year, or the year after
The images in the mind and youtubes
have a strange eternity
like a figure we cannot forget
standing below a lamp post
writing in a cafe at one o' clock in the morning
wandering slowly in the rain
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