On love letters and longing.

Loneliness is particularly hard
When you are in a new and beautiful place.
Though at the end of the day,
Remember that you are,
indeed,
In a new and a beautiful place.

I advise
A cigarette on your new balcony,
and poetry.
Take two and write me in the morning.

If that doesn’t work,
Buy yourself a new hat.
You seem like a man with a face for hats.
It will be cold soon.

If that doesn’t work,
There is an experimental treatment,
Anecdotal reports have been positive.
They are beginning human trials
If you are interested,
Here,
Fill out this questionnaire.

Ask if your life could benefit from love.
If so, you may qualify
To participate in an exciting study

Take these pamphlets, these letters.
Call this number.
This prescription.
This list of your options
It should be found in your city.

Ask around.
Meanwhile,
The hat should help.

Steep Your Bones in Bourbon, Boys. Debaucherous Roads Ahead.

I forget my ways sometimes
That in the end
Logic always wins.
(And love stories never end well, any way)

This is our mutual agreement to ignore the inevitable.

How many distractions must I wake up with?
Must get my feet on the sidewalk again.
Steep those bones in bourbon, Boys.
Debaucherous roads ahead.

My knees weren’t built for all the running they like to do.
Don’t worry.
I’ll find some other way to leave you.
Because trouble never
Forgets Brooklyn for long.
The man in front of the orange stand
Always whistling the same song.
Just the same melody that suits his broken heart,
Every morning he nods my way like
He’s been waiting on me to sing.

Every day I have no words for him.

I will never love easy.
I need a few days to get my mind back to this city. To today.
Set my watch back to ticking the right way.

Steep these bones in bourbon boys.

4/30, a resurrection of lines

It took
23 years
8 months and
12 days
To hear my grandfather say,
“I love you”

In his way, he believed in love.
The
Socio-economic benefits
Of co-habitation.
In Making a genetic contribution to the population.
He did not believe in marriage since,
Divorce is both 
Inevitable and expensive.

 He believed I was a girl worth loving. 

It took 23 years
8 months
And 26 days
To hear my grandfather accuse me of trying to kill him.

Everyone kept telling me it was just this illness talking
but Alzheimer’ss does not speak.
To speak would be to give.
It only takes.
It only steals.

In November, it took him.

I came prepared for the evening
With Eliot’s Four Quartets
The subject of his thesis.
I set my reading
In line with the pace of
His relentless
Against-all-odds-still-beating
Heart
165 beats per minute. 

Passers-by who caught a glimpse
Must have heard
Me reading bible verse
They at least heard me speak
Of end and time.
Beginning and England
Old men and spring.
November.
And
Knowing.

What it is to love a man who is dying. 

All of the Italian
I still can’t move my lips around.
The sound.
Of my grandfather wrapping
His ribcage around a breath
45 times per minute. 

Amazing how hard
His heart was working
Just
To
Stop.

Like his lungs still had something to say.

There is a history of Alzheimer’s in my family,
So be warned,
Should you ever know me.
Love me.
Someday
That may be not be enough.

Be warned.
Should we meet only this once,
Should you never think of me again
That in 68 years

You may be the only story
That I have left

To tell my granddaughter.

 

30 in 30 has started, some notes to begin day one.

Her embrace was-

Driving in the rain
Headlights on the highway
Blinding, this must be
The light at the end everyone keeps discussing.
Rain drop percussion of
8 o’clock
When the clouds gave up
Holding on.
New England anxiety that shakes bones.
Three lanes of lost souls
Cursing their way home.
Fingernails tapping on your window
Frantic echo of an autumn storm outside Boston.
My mother’s embrace was
The moment when
You drive under an overpass and
For a second-

It stops.

Now she’s gone and it seems I only sleep when it rains.