obit raze this_keeps_happening. you stumble onto a poem that speaks to you in a place you didn't know was waiting to be spoken to. a meditation on the memory of water. you go looking for an email address so you can tell the architect of those words how beautiful they are. what you find instead is an obituary explaining that the poet collapsed when she was about to take the stage at an awards ceremony connected to the school she taught at. you don't learn if it was an embolism, or an aneurysm, or what awful ending took her away from the world before she was ready to go. only the sad fact that they couldn't bring her back. she wasn't much older than you are now. you stare at the screen. there's nothing to be done. you're eleven years too late. (her name was joy. because of course it was.) 260710 what's it to you? who go blather from