write a poem about her.
Neva.
who recently
passed
away at the golden age
of ninety-seven.
i presume
her final destination
wasn't hell,
but heaven.
i can count the fingers
on both
hands
the poets she revealed
to me
over the years,
standing in front
of the class
for over
an hour with her coat
still on,
her large purse
with a strap around her
shoulder.
lost
in teaching.
her voice a song.
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