Yesterday, I found this handwritten poem draft I wrote about Rose (a professor/mentor/friend who has since passed away) when I was sorting through some papers. It probably needs revising, but I’m not sure I want to since it is almost like this artifact of something I was afraid I had lost. She was the first person to tell me I should write, that I was good at it. She was extremely formative in who I became as a person and writer.
https://octodon.social/media/O7s4SHjis_89dhLIaKM