Elegy for LVJ

When Ultra-Violet died,

her house plants,

silent green friends

for decades—

fern, heartleaf,

giant jade—died too.

Her kitchen radio

played classic rock

in the dark

for weeks, looking

antique but new,

seeking her ear.

Old cigarette ash lay

in a faceted glass tray

like faded buffalo,

like fingers mourning

the letters of her

nearby keyboard.

in memory of Laurie Violet James