“But in the meantime,” Peter resumed his more teacherly volume, “I like your poem title, Vivienne.” I glanced at the poem he had placed on my desk—“What Can I Blame Her for? Even My Body—”. I was trying out a fragmented title that connected to the first line of the poem—not Anna Swir-ish at all. “It makes me feel like you intend to say something.” Peter lifted his hand as if he might drop it on my poem for emphasis, but then he pulled it back and addressed the class. “Let’s examine titles today.” Ah, Peter Breznik. Sometimes you feel like the title of everything.
