Monday, January 22, 2018

Pavane for a Dead Princes

Maurice Ravel into my living room while I hunchbacked on the couch, stare at your picture on the mantle, tears streaming, you 19 -years-old, Mediterranean almond eyes downward. And I see you through those tears, years ago, time and its disparity — you chirpily telling me that you'd been an Egyptian princess once and I never disbelieved.


Was it you with your reach divining into a dentist appointment for me tomorrow ... my aching tooth scheduled two weeks ahead?

Oh Carole, how I miss you.

Two days later, Wednesday January 24, 2018.

Carole, could you imagine a Divining Dentist Appointment would make so so happy? First getting, then the results???? NO extraction, or root canal! I'd had a buncle ... "it was a buncle," I'd cried, and he finally surmised I meant carbuncle, an abscess, dumb me.  Outdated Ampicillin given for another tooth still viable.

After that good news, went to class and one upped. May be going to AWP conference in Tampa in March, a classmate booked herself, we'll share a room and she'll drive.  More to follow. Am reading Atwood's The Heart Goes Last, a dystopian madcap. Zany-plus.

Also reading Glick's Time Travel. Between the two, our Three Attention Deficit Sisters and the Mafia. 

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

January 3, 2018

Hi Carole,

Were you here, we'd be a year apart in ages, whatever those numbers confer ...