Saturday, September 02, 2006
We sat out on the lone picnic table behind the deli and ate lobster rolls—-my first—-from white paper and salt and vinegar chips which stung my mouth, and drank root beer in bottles. You wore your blue sweater, which, for a week, I wore. For a week I walked around with only a five dollar bill in my jeans, enough for ice cream. I have been giving cartwheel lessons. I have been writing an idea a day, maybe two or five, on index cards, Lynchian. The stack is bound with a black hair band. The stack and the smoke in my head are what I have of this new book, so far. The stack and the smoke. It was free to ride the ferry on the return; they didn’t even take tickets. Light washed the island like a rind. I love you in any city. Now we are back. It’s the end of summer and I am wearing my one warm thing: a long navy corduroy coat I have dubbed the pirate coat because it has deep pockets and big brass buttons, because it has a pink and brown striped lining, because kiss me. I want never to leave this life. There’s wind outside in the courtyard, like waves.
Posted by Alison Stine