The www.Extralove.com site remains down, but Curt was able to retrieve a portion of text from a backup.
Below is a poem you wrote to Donna when her first husband died.
Revisions of home.
Books on the mantel.
Chair of ten years.
Dust, the old thumbprints.
this life after death.
What connects all things:
the daily routine
that binds two people
when one is gone
Or an energy
the survivor sits with
in a dark corner talking;
the spirit struggling
to live through all it had known,
these pieces of furniture
no longer practical?
Answers never come.
of this fact –
then the slow beginning
of nothing familiar,
changes that had never
distance and its evidence –
until like a dream of a woman
being pulled back,
unable to continue running,
the memory rolls over
Carole Leslie Marcus, 1977
Dedicated to sons Joshua and Daniel Abril
Either tumbled or thrown, they must learn how to fall
without breaking. For them, there is always that falling,
that breaking down, that struggle of a born-backward growth
from boulders to stones. But first they must learn
how to skid water three leaps at a time, how to assimilate
as chalk on someone’s sidewalk, and how to lie, still as stones,
on an old woman’s patio collecting soot and dust. While
once they held the weight of the world on the tips
of their shoulders, they have settled, lump backed,
in community corners, waiting to turn into sand,
and in that way be blown toward oblivion
through the fingers of children.
Carole Leslie Marcus