Once More Into the Breach, Dear Friends

Sleepy at Musee Rodin.

For KC: I forgot that last night, I was at the house of either Margaret Atwood or Maya Angelou (though my version was a wispy thing) and she made me stand up and read a poem, five pages long, in front of our poetry class, which was seated outside at a picnic table.  The wind was blowing something fierce, as southerners in books would say, and the pages kept flying out of my hands, and I would have to snatch them up and rearrange them.  Bizarrely some pages included were just visual aids, and though I thought I would knock it out the park, I stumbled all over the words, the only one of which I pronounced with any confidence being tznius.

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