Will Power Edward Aubanel -

Two years later, Sabine Durand’s garden poem was read at a UN climate rally. A high school in Vermont named a library after her. And Will Power Edward Aubanel, standing in the back of a crowded auditorium, watched a ghost take a bow.

That night, unable to sleep, Will returned to the library. He began to translate the journal by flashlight. Sabine’s poems weren’t minor at all. They were devastating—about a woman who built a garden in a prison yard, who taught illiterate factory girls to read using smuggled newspapers, who loved another woman and wrote about it as if the sky were a held breath. Will Power Edward Aubanel

By thirty-five, Will had become a man of quiet, stubborn decency—not because of his name, but in spite of it. He worked as a restoration archivist at a failing municipal library, repairing books no one else wanted to read. His coworkers called him Ed. Two years later, Sabine Durand’s garden poem was

“What grows in the dark does not ask for a witness.” That night, unable to sleep, Will returned to the library

Will smiled. “Because someone had to will her back into the world. And I had the right name for it.”