"
“Are you a poet?” the main one finally asked, hopefully. “I ask because you wear very … strange dress.”
I admitted I was not. They seemed disappointed. “We are,” he said.
“Poets,” clarified the glum Scotsman.
The main guy produced a worn paper bag, thrust it into my hands, and regarded me expectantly. “Poetry!” he said.
"
Paris Review – Letter from Portugal: Sonnets from the Portuguese, Sadie Stein (via housingworksbookstore)
(via housingworksbookstore)
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