Bev Bevin was a woman with one expression suitable for every occasion necessary in her private life and in her profession as a poet. When she opened her mouth and raised her eyebrows, one knew that she was astonished that I, from all the way across the continent, should know Don Donal, and when she opened her mouth and raised her eyebrows one could easily tell that she thought that it was funny that she, a friend of Don’s mother, remembered Don as a spoiled little brat, and when she opened her mouth and raised her eyebrows one could see that she was proud of Don for doing something unexpected. There was poetry in that expression. Maybe it was in the subtleties of her timing; maybe it was in otherwise indetectable variances of lip, brow, and eye—a hint of a smile, a slight contraction toward the bridge of her nose, a quick, confiding ocular glimmer.
13 May 1985