Sometimes I forget
I was 5
when Ezra Pound died
that we shared the Universe
that he would have hated me. 

In Berryman dreams, of
course, a farmer’s daughter
can see herself and
imagine she, too
is one of them. 

If I lit a cigarette and
waved it around
I could pretend
Alexander Wollcott was directly
to my right, drinking gin. 

Sexton scared me though
I would have pitied her
like many others
I felt kinship
like an ingrown kidneystone