< 1 mn read
0
In My Fiftieth Year
< 1 mn read October had me thinking about dying. The specialist had dropped a few new words into my humdrum, day-to-day vocabulary, sharp, angular words like prostate, blood test and tumour. I waited as the days grew shorter, burned faster, turning for consolation to Alden Nowlan and Raymond Carver, poets who both died conscious at fifty, facing the […]
