neva

she's ninety four,
my poetry
instructor. she's gold.
she's a river
of creativity.
new poems fall from her pen
so easily.
she introduced me to larkin
and plath.
to strand.
to sexton. the list is long
and I still read
each and every one.
seeking a flicker
of inspiration to work
on my own.
I hear her voice on the phone,
neva
that familiar pitch.
the teaching tone.
still at it.
still strong.