The Poet

I been reading one of her poems a night. One a night to put me in good thoughts as I fall into sleep. And then last night I chanced to look on the back fold of the cover. There is a picture of her sitting on a sofa her face turned to meet that of her dog’s, who is perched on the sofa’s arm. Underneath the photo it said that she had died last year. It gave me such a jolt. And then I was overtaken, for a moment, by a deep sadness. I don’t know her, and the work that I know of her’s is small. But I still felt a loss. Unaccountable really.