Online session with my doctor about a sore on my arm that seemed like cancer yesterday but like nothing when it actually came to talking about it.
Between rainstorms, I went to school and cleaned out all of mine that remained in the office, which I inhabited, I think, for 34 years. Wept a little, turned to the empty room and whispered, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant,” and shut the door. Left my keys on Wren’s desk. Said goodbye to the red oak whose growth I’ve watched for its entire life.
Picked up Robert Lowell’s The Dolphin, which Jay gave me for my 27th birthday. The first poem is bad, and I never went beyond that. The rest of the poems are fascinating, and I read them while waiting for my doctor’s appointment. Envy makes him grant to Yeats “one good poem.” May we not leave clear record of our faults behind us.
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