I met my neighbor on the road this morning, a childhood friend I haven't seen since childhood, except on Facebook, which is where he saw the news of my new book. "Selling lots of copies?" he inquired cheerfully, and when I mentioned that books of poems don't really figure in that way in the American consciousness he and I then shared a few moments laughingly comparing the obscurity of our respective art forms: He is an opera singer, it turns out, though from his Facebook friends I had construed him as an architect. But this is not a post about Facebook.

Originally Published: August 22nd, 2009

Born and raised in New York City, Rebecca Wolff earned an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She authored Manderley (2001), selected for the 2001 National Poetry Series; Figment (2004), winner of the Barnard Women Poets Prize; The King (2009); and One Morning— (2015). Her work has appeared in BOMB...

  1. August 23, 2009
     Tony Renner

    i can't tell if this is a post or a poem... i like it....\r

    -- tony

  2. August 23, 2009
     Jim Murdoch

    Yes, I suppose there must be worse things to be than a poet. I mean, how many of their buildings does the average architect ever see constructed in their lifetime? Or is one enough as long as you're remembered for it?

  3. August 23, 2009

    "But this is not a post about Facebook."\r

    Ah. Thank-you Master Po.