A crisp, snap-new white shirt, top two buttons undone, as per usual. One of my favourite things to wear or to see someone else wear is a new white button-down with slightly faded jeans and black shoes. My professor's take on this classic casual look did not disappoint. His shoulders and the lines of his back moved powerfully beneath the fabric. His hair was freshly cut and had all the appeal of fresh, young grass. His hands gesturing calmly throughout his lecture were a pleasant distraction. We were discussing the “verbal contraptions” of poetry; I became two people. One who heard the comments of my classmates, and who chimed in periodically; I dispatched the other iteration of myself to the realm just beyond the actual world. She imagined what it would be like to be the girlfriend of white-shirt-Levis-black shoes-man.

His self-effacing humour does not bespeak low self-esteem, but a lack of pretension that I admire in very smart men. He is also unattached. He worked that in at one point during the class discussion. We were discussing an Elizabeth Bishop poem on the art of losing—we talked about the nature of loss. One woman joked that she and her three daughters are always losing things—you know the things that just get up and “walk away.” He said “Well, I only have myself—no daughters to accuse of misplacing anything, and I can never find anything either…”

The Artiste and I have a pre-arranged coffee engagement on the calendar for this evening, but Old Man Winter may prevent us from enjoying the communal java pot.