A hint of melancholy,
love amiss yet subsists,
intimacy, stale and distant—lines stitched with
culpability, carried by her characters, with
every girl and woman missing a piece.
Mother, wife, lover, enabler—
under the rug, she swept jagged truths,
noting how flawed we are, she included,
reality penned through endings neither happy nor sad, and
on each of her words and faults, she’d stay alive.
—
A belated acrostic elegy for Alice Munro, her literary contribution and an ironic – or perhaps hinted – legacy surfaced posthumously.
Paracosmic 
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