March 16, 2026
Kat Talks to Me
When I least expect it… I am talking to someone and telling them about Kat and a memory rushes in. In my mind, she’s 2, 5, 7, 13, 15… We’re driving together. She’s behind the wheel. She was behind the wheel from the time she got her license… until she couldn’t drive.
Some people collect coins. Some baseball cards. I collect information. I have a terrible memory, so I capture data, things I want to remember: movies, books, poems… I have them all at the ready. I’ve forgotten nearly all, but the data is there ready to be accessed. I collect poems.
I’m sharing a poem. Another poem pops up in my list of poems that I have collected. Did I say that I collect poems? I forget.
I collect information. My daughters tell me things and I don’t want to forget even though I know I will. But some of it is still there, ready to be accessed.
Kat is sick. We’re driving and I’m at the wheel. Kat and I are talking about grim things… things neither of us wants to talk about and both of us want to talk about. They are both true at the same time. She told me what her favorite poem was. I collected the information.
I forgot
I didn’t put the poet’s name in the place where the author should go. That made this poem sit at the top of the list with the other poems that apparently wrote themselves (but didn’t).
I opened it
At the top above the poem were these words, “Kat told me this was her favorite poem when we were driving back from Duke Hospital.”
I wasn’t ready to read it then. I’m not sure I was ready just now. But I am moved to my core.
A Woman is Talking to Death by Judy Grahn
Jimazing Thoughts 
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