: A Life in Letters

damn, this is good.
all at once i step into
his bygone house
of mice & men,
of assembled books.
i drop down into his tub
to read his thoughts,
to feel his weakness,
i get wrapped up
in his letters! his disdain
of the telephone. hooray.
i slip off the yellow
world market towel,
& he slips me (e)’s
like these
slanted ceilings,
gives me (o)’s
like these round mint tiles
i infuse myself with steamy water
from his finicky faucet
again, &again. again.
my lime drink sweats
on the cool basin, this
borrowed book split open
on slatted wooden rack,
my dainty toes beneath,
my dainty toes above
the water line, i take in
every dash and dot, as my
husband watches some game,
or other, on the tv set.
after 3 hours, it’s over.
(proud, stone words): tomorrow,
it’s cup of gold in his garden.

for Quickly

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2 thoughts on “: A Life in Letters

  1. Your phrasing is fantastic: “his bygone house/of mice & men,/of assembled books.” In that intimate setting, these words are striking. So are the actions. Personal and detailed–with much to relate to, if we wish. I wish. Thank you!

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