In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

334 A Face to Meet the Faces Autumn Somewhere Leigh Phillips Dear Eleanor, There are pianos in you. They are threatening to shatter together. They are threatening to shatter into God. ThisistheletterIshouldhavewritteninJuneof 1974.Iknowwhatyou’reholding. I can hear the song of you slipping into an overcoat, letting your chignon spill its curls to your neck. Rivers and rivers: I can hear great things. A novel of flesh called“You,Appearing.”Onthethreshold.Inadoorframe.TheArrivant,again and again. Enter, to me. Trembling on the stoop of flesh. “Who is there, yes and come in.” No. This letter I will burn before I ever let it touch you. Nothing should ever hurt. I want you to tend to the roses, sift bags of potting soil and sunlight, taste John’s lips, arrive over and over. The letter I will writes sounds like this: Dear Eleanor, how are you? I am fine. The weather here has been a delight and my days are filled with years. My years are full of shimmering and my body is a lakeof lostthings.Overyears,Ihavewrittenbooksandtakennightlyriverwalks. I have collected maps, postcards, and a drawer of antique thimbles. I have a collection of clocks, they all ring differently. Dear Eleanor, bells and birds. Time? It is time to turn to you in a dream of 1976 and say. This letter will not survive. My other words will live, but these will not. I love you. Some words just have to be destroyed. Angel, I am leaving Flagstaff. Soon I’ll be an Angel, too. 335 Not the Poet, Not Me You’re my certain slant of sunlight. To be older is to shiver. My hair pours a silver faucet, running with a faster I. I’m coming. Do you ever wonder who remembers?Thissummer,winter.Somanysweaters.Istillsmellyousometimes when no one’s looking. In the dark, the moon glances the bridge of your nose on the floorboards. John, please kiss Eleanor’s bridge so I can sleep and be beautiful tomorrow. Tomorrow I thought I’d do some writing. My hands shake so holding is often very difficult. These are the winters in me. I am so warm. Sunlight, my— Daisy ...

Share