She is rabid
infatuated
reads every book
even when he wrote
one for children
she went to the reading
at a children’s festival
and sat up front
on the grass
with the little ones.
Her life is scarred
and quiet
she always expected she would marry
she’s almost sixty now
but no man ever measured up
to the author
he doesn’t write her back
she doesn’t mind
she writes often
he understands her
he doesn’t have to respond.
She reads the last page again
from his latest book
and it’s so clear she could laugh:
he knows,
she matters.