reader. miss pope always wore a hat and she kept it on in the class. sometimes she fell asleep but when she woke up she’d be wide-awake and spot on the mark of whatever we were reading. she told me, the years go by like days in the end. it all speeds up just as you come to value it.
little remains, he says and i wonder … how old is this man ? would you put him at a modern sixty? and then the question the poems poses for us: what are you going to do with your remaining time? this is a difficult area of conversation and almost certainly 