A great teacher and poet died last week. Call him professor, call him poet laureate, call him husband and father, call him friend. I called David Citino my mentor and inspiration, and I'm immensely sad knowing that he's gone from this world.
True, his words live on, but that's little consolation for those who long to sit with him, watching those coke bottle glasses bent over a poem, pencil ticking off the extra words, stripping it down to simplicity. Or to hear him laugh, burst into song. All of us were very blessed.
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