How much time I got?
You got one more poem.
Really?
I've gone that far?
One more.
With question and answer, yeah.
All right, all right.
All right, I'm gonna go right to this.
Right through, one more.
"Let It Snow."
At first she just-- this is about an elderly woman, widow,
who got on the bus, so you know what
you're getting into right away.
"Let It Snow."
"At first, she decided to spend everything she had
and let the state take care of her when she emptied out.
She had little imagination.
And did not bother to imagine that the state was not
an extension of her children, and her children,
worried about her finances.
Took a trip she dreamed of for years to Ireland,
but remained in the hotel while the others
went in search of monuments.
"My legs hurt."
Home again, she bought clothes for her next trip, clothes
for all seasons.
And when the coats, the jackets, the dresses, the skirts,
and slacks, squeezed together like commuters in the New York
subway, she bought expensive costume jewelry, then got sick.
It was nothing, this illness, but it was bed rest.
And when the fever broke, and she tried to get out of bed,
her legs refused her summons.
So she slept more.
And when she finally got up, she ate "like a pig."
Got stronger, decided one morning
to drive the old car again, "My independence is all I've got."
And got lost, "No one lives where they live anymore."
Got in a foolish accident, refused to go out,
"Lost my will," she said.
And one son cajoled her, and the other
let her be, not wanting to be either father or husband
both with good intentions.
She gave her clothes to the weekly maid,
jewelry to a favorite granddaughter,
wedding ring included at the last minute, furniture
to a young couple just starting out.
So the house was suddenly full of gaps a blind man would
have tripped over.
Finally, the photo albums to whoever wanted
historical glimpses of the past they had no part in.
And then, the past itself lost its continuity.
She forgot birthdays, except her own, and blew out the candles.
"I'm so happy just to be still alive."
And gained a new sense of time, began
to eat as her father had taught her, each small mouthful, 60
chews, so lunch took from noon to two, time for a nap,
couldn't sleep, so wandered the house.
One morning, she didn't get dressed.
It was snowing, where would she go anyway?
"Isn't it beautiful, this snow?"
She said wistfully, and lounged on the couch
reading romance novels.
And when the snow stayed on, she reread them.
The sex is always so long.
Your father was always slam, bam, thank you, ma'am.
And when her son joked that the couch was beginning
to take on the shape of her body, she said,
"I had such a beautiful body, what a shame, no one
is left to appreciate it."
Forgot her medications, forgot suppers, got thinner,
smiled as a form of listening.
And when the elder son mentioned that she needed a new roof,
she said, "Dad will take care of it,"
then felt foolish, remembering how dead he really was,
and then said, "Let it snow."
That used to be a song.
Where is it now when I need it?"
All right.
Ding.
[CROWD APPLAUDS]