The Letter

Little cramped words scrawling all over
the paper
Like draggled fly’s legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and the
bare floor

Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing
in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth,
virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart
against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.

Amy Lowell

Of True Hearts and Kind Words



1-12 The Guests.m4a


This song is dedicated to my Valentines. Both of them. Thank you for a very memorable Valentines day.

Is that it then? Perhaps it should be. I was starting to feel too much, and that just made no sense at all. It’s so much easier for me to just turn away and say “enough”.

Try explaining this to anyone on the outside. Try telling your very best girlfriends about such a strange connection, and watch as they arch their eyebrows when you get to the punch line.

But despite that, despite my own reservations, I know this is special. Or should I use the past tense?

On Friday night I felt like I have not felt since over a year ago. My heart just sort of froze, and my claws came out in a fluid swipe, everything went cold and hard. Only one other person has ever affected me so, and I guarantee that you would not like that comparison. What was clear to me was that I had inspired an equally powerful rush of negative feeling. Considerable, if you look at the limitations imposed on us.

We are feeling, and feeling a lot.

And so, realizing that I needed to take many slow deep breaths, I decided Saturday morning to be my own Valentine. I got all dolled up for myself, took myself to brunch with a beautiful woman, a lovely sushi supper with friends, and then dancing and all manner of craziness at the Orbit room. I succeeded in switching off my feelings for several hours, and in the exhaustion that remains I only now sense them creeping back in, but soon I will be asleep and safe again.

I will try not to think about that which I think too much about.

I will cocoon even deeper, and marvel at how thick and fuzzy my protective layer has become.

I will continue to be grateful for the tiny slice of you that inspired so much writing from me.

I will wake tomorrow, and feel more like me than I did today.