Barbara Mills: Search, Kartoniert / Broschiert

Klappentext

I always knew my mother was A Poet.

The familiar sound of her typewriter keys clacking was a lullaby I grew to love. As a small child, I learned early on to be quiet when my mama suddenly stopped mid task and stared into space or scribbled madly in the little spiral notebook she always carried.

If by chance she had misplaced her notebook when inspiration struck, she wrote words on scraps of whatever paper was handy: receipts, napkins, mail, paper bags. After she died, I found the car manual for her Toyota covered in fragments of her spidery handwriting.

When she asked if I would publish a book of her poems after her death, I blithely agreed without hesitation. How little I understood the gravitas of my promise.

• Blase Mills