She Is Dead

Do you know of who I speak?
If you do not
It is not necessary for you to know.
All this requires is the facts
that someone once lived.
She was once an infant
and then she became a child.
That child became a teenager
and that teenager budded
into a writer whose words
still haunt. Why am I writing
about her? Why can I not simply
tell you her name. I could
but I won't. I can see her name
resting on a pile of books
sitting on my desk.
She is someone you would
not expect to be a hunter
but she was and remains.
I can see her face from
her youth and know she
still exists even if solely
through her words.