Your Poems Are Warm Rocks I Hold in My Hand

Dear Mary,

I wake each morning in my house in Alaska, turn on the kettle, and sit down with a book of your poems.  This is how I begin my day, and how I've begun my days for years.  Your poems are warm rocks I hold in my hand as I hike through my days, and the large sticks I use to get over the rough patches.  They are the water I drink, and the words I use to pray.  Thank you for giving us so much.  I am sending you prayers and healing thoughts.

With gratitude and peace,

Emily Wall