On "The Woman I Kept To Myself" by Julia Alvarez

When I read a poem that... Well, that feels like it could have been written by me, if only I could write, because the naked truth of it is my naked truth... When I read a poem like that, I am struck by the possibility that there are so many different incarnations of my self, living different lives in different places at different paces, but under the shirtsleeves and skin and flesh, the same scarred soul, finding breadcrumb clues along the bitterly beautiful way and sharing them with the others as we can. Through poems. Smoke signals. Signs of life. What you know, we know. What you feel and perceive, whether real or imagined, occurs to us too. You are still out here. We are still out here. You are not alone. You are connected by DNA to kindreds across the earth, across time, and the pangs of consciousness and horror and understanding - we feel them too. So do not be afraid. We don't know you, but we know ourselves, and when our paths cross in pages, we know that we are many.