Dear Josephine,
Although your birthday is not until November, your gift is being compiled. It has to do with the fictional place of Yoknapatawpha county -- those familial streets we've dis-assembled upon touching, dis-assembled again in remembering the burning of our soles. I intentionally did not use the phrase "familiar streets". They are more to us now than simply knowing.
Our correspondence is shifting - letters to poems to letters. Do not be alarmed. There is comfort here, in fiction, in mississippi. Rivers to be found, and all that nonsense.
I am going to drink a glass of wine and ruminate on the collection of words, on bears, on how to scavenge for newness.
For now,
laura
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Letter 29
Dear Josephine,
Have you missed me? I have no decent excuse for my absence - in honesty I rarely thought of you. Is it easier to unveil these truths through the medium of letters? Then I don't have to shift my reactions to face your mecurial moods (denying is unbecoming, you've said).
Still, in these months of suspension I'm sure, you too, have forgotten my voice, how I compile letters to make words. In the face of tragedy we learn to keep breathing, in the face of absence we learn to re-write.
To update you on my life would be a crime, too much has unfolded in this time lapse, let's make another go, forget those months, say I went on a drinking binge and have just emerged.
Instead looking ahead I can tell you I've made solid plans for my future that involve London and academia. But this plan is a year away, and doesn't need to be extrapolated for conversation. Now, I plan to enjoy the humidity that has descended upon d.c., to enjoy this summertime, to enjoy this 24th year.
And to you, I promise only disjointed phrases and truths. As much as I am capable.
always,
l.c.
Have you missed me? I have no decent excuse for my absence - in honesty I rarely thought of you. Is it easier to unveil these truths through the medium of letters? Then I don't have to shift my reactions to face your mecurial moods (denying is unbecoming, you've said).
Still, in these months of suspension I'm sure, you too, have forgotten my voice, how I compile letters to make words. In the face of tragedy we learn to keep breathing, in the face of absence we learn to re-write.
To update you on my life would be a crime, too much has unfolded in this time lapse, let's make another go, forget those months, say I went on a drinking binge and have just emerged.
Instead looking ahead I can tell you I've made solid plans for my future that involve London and academia. But this plan is a year away, and doesn't need to be extrapolated for conversation. Now, I plan to enjoy the humidity that has descended upon d.c., to enjoy this summertime, to enjoy this 24th year.
And to you, I promise only disjointed phrases and truths. As much as I am capable.
always,
l.c.
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