I cringe when I get to the end of the poem. And I don't like the juggling conceit -- memories like bean bags? No. No. And no.
Not that I don't forgive myself for trying out the idea. Sure. Try it, see if it works. Gotta get the poem going.
I don't think this one does Helen Luster justice. But poets are always writing memorial poems, especially to other poets. And here I was -- a poet! Shouldn't I be writing the memorial poem?
I post it here because I do like aspects of it. It does bring Helen back in gestures -- the cat that was only happy in her lap, the way she would cradle her glasses in her hands. And it's a challenge. Can I make of it something? something that ... I don't know ...