Kim Gurnee

Today I discovered Kim Gurnee, who taught at College of the Canyons, passed away in 2017. I’m so sorry for it. She was an incredible woman and I’m sorry there’s so little to find about her online. Where are the obituaries? Where are the words of sorrow? So. This poem. Rough, but here.

Kim Gurnee

The silvery woman is gone.
Her wide smile, her generous eyes,
her elf-land bones. Gilt threads in her hair,
dawn-quiet and pale, she had a way
of cupping a moment, just so —
as if it was alive
and loved. As if — I can see her, even now
smiling — she took no measure of time
for granted, as if — I can see her,
intent on a speaker, or language,
the weaving of words —
she might learn warp and weft, rise and fall,
what passes unsaid and
what is told. As if — oh, I can see
her kindly speaking an observation
that would crack open the sky —
she was infused, a cordial,
a charm, a heady elixir. As if, kindly radiant,
she could give the moment to you,
thank you for it. I can see her, absorbed
in a poem. Remember her,
in this poem. The silvery woman
is gone. Her wide smile,
her generous.

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