Inthefray - Eight letters between old lovers

Eight letters between old lovers
Third letter

published May 7, 2001
written by Daniel Wolff / New York
illustrated by Vasus Das / New York

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Dear John:

All I have to say is, Jesus,

we sure do get serious

--and fast!

I've been re-reading your last

on a bench in the park,

and I guess we aren't going to be friends,

huh? Well, how about one

last note, then, before it ends.

Yesterday, around dark,

I broke my regular route back and forth from work

to go where you sent me. I followed your letter

like a map.

Back streets. The smell of cats

and piss and people. A sweater

ripped and rotting on a banister post.

Streets scribbled with ghost

anger. "FUCK YOU" "EAT SHIT"

You're right. It didn't feel like anywhere

I'd been before. At first, I just wanted to tear

it down, to start over. And then I noticed it

already had been. Whole blocks laid to waste.

And without a clue what to put in their place,

right, John? Without a clue.

I guess I should thank you.

For sending me. I don't mean to be critical,

but you should try it sometime in a woman's body.

Stand in front of the storefront glass

and have a guy come up in cracked reflection

and whisper how he wants you to be

his "finger food," his "piece of ass."

Maybe it's not all identical,

but it sure feels like one architecture:

this just the dark side of the same question.

From where I sit today, I can see ducks begging for feed,

red tulips in the sun. I think people need

more of this, John: more birds, more bloom.

Otherwise, we assume

everything's man-made:

the city as self-fulfilling prophecy, played

out in concrete the way it was laid out on paper.

I won't write again. But I did want you to know

that I never meant any hurt.

Are you well, John?

Happy?

Seeing anyone?

I hope so.

FRANKIE

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Third letter