Her soft ginger hair
was always gently accented
by a white wool cap.

The kind that you wear
when you go skiing but
ironically she hated snow.

She still looked stunning
in that hat though.

She taught me to love
literature and life,
showing me that the two
weren't all that different.

Now I see the world through
Bukowski and Cummings,
Salinger and Steinbeck.

And I can't pick up a book
without thinking of her curled
up on the leather sofa
with me when it was too cold
or too rainy to be in the park,
lost in worlds created by strangers.

Worlds better than our own.