In the Garden of the Bridehouse

Self-Portrait as Letter Addressed to Self

13 Self-Portrait as Letter Addressed to Self . . . . . , Someday, across glacier, a green horse will ride toward you; despite steam rising from heavy breath, you’ll touch its snout. When you paired a person’s gait to signature, what lilt signed your step? What tautology was this body’s hypothesis? Do you remember your mother’s Strawberry Fruit-Salad Recipe? 2 round angel cakes (2 pounds or 4 halves), 16 oz. of vanilla pudding, 4 bananas, 2 containers of 8 oz. strawberries, 1 big container of whipped cream. Layer and eat. Your hands shaking, you wrote, “Christ is sentiment.” A cup cracked through with sky. A saucer planed into the shapes of numbers. Every written thing stripped bare, the more supple formulation of given law. I told you distance to a thing is the purchase of its reality. Why are people like that for us? The more we love the more physical space our love inhabits & the world’s lightnesses & darknesses assume the order of human tongue. Last night we tore & tossed memories into ponds. Geese swam across, pecked the waters. I splashed at them &, after, my hands shook. You stood beside me in a red dress. I wanted to drown you this pretty. xoxo, . . . . ...