“People come, from delight or the / scars of damage, / to the comfort of a poem.” —Mary Oliver
Poems by my son, John E. Valusek, a barista in Boulder.
After we met Dwight Running Deer at the Yakima homeless shelter, it took Cary and me a few days to realize that he spoke in poetry. No iambic pentameters, just subtle rhythms throughout his conversation and little rhymes at the ends of his sentences. As if he were composing an epic poem from the raw materials of his everyday life.
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