IMPRECISION
People like the way I am,
even if it never reminds them of the Ivy League.
Them that we think of as the elite
are coarse, coarse people.
What is it like to be here?
By “here,” I mean inside me,
and by “inside me” I mean
passing through various institutions
or my house.
I don’t mind imprecision anymore
and even seek it.
How else are you supposed to convince
your students you love each and every
one of them, instead of loving just a few
and only liking the rest very very much?
I take a picture of my desk so that I may remember
“these days of immense joy and sorrow.”
On it: flowers from Andy, after they won their award;
Kathryn Scanlan’s little book; poems by Mattias.
I let you know I am teaching you
by referring to things.
I cry and cry in front of various classes.
This spring, a girl died.
