I was walking down Rodney Street toward KCC, and and a dark pickup truck suddenly pulled to a stop. Two women waved and beamed at me, Phuntsok and -- was it Michelle? My mind ran through names, couldn't find one. She'd cut her hair, and my brain apparently had indexed her name by her hair.
"I'm loving your poems!" she called. Phuntsok nodded vigorously. "We both are!"
"Thanks so much," I said. There was a tiny awkward pause. I should have said something, but my mind's librarians were racing up and down the aisles, looking for Michelle's name. I beamed back at them, and put my hand on my heart. That seemed a poet-ish gesture. We all beamed at each other a bit more, and then they drove on.
So: there. I'm famous.
3 comments:
How lovely! I'm sure the warm glow quite eclipsed the embarrassment of the forgotten name, and that they loved the poet-ish gesture :~)
How delightful!
Indeed.
I am entirely in favor of a world where people roll down their windows to call out the love of poetry.
P. S. Thought about you over breakfast. "Wind in the Willows" on the ipad.
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