"You can’t bring back the dead, / but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands / as if they meant to spend a lifetime together."
M., As it turns out I've had quite an unproductive afternoon—the rain interfered with the electricity here, so I turned off my computer and had a nap. Just finished dinner and am now back at my desk listening to Dean Martin. No
My dearest Y. and B.— I've written and rewritten this letter many times. Didn't want to sound trite, didn't want to come off like a cliched greeting card either. How does one find the right words for joy, for knowing that you're
1. Almost all my letters the other day began this way: I am not sure of the geography of things— Some friends I haven't written in awhile. Their previous letters I haven't yet answered. I said: this is a letter I must
1. Yesterday was— Perhaps it's better not talk to about it. 2. My manuscript is home now, all the way from Edinburgh. I look at your notes, M., and— You should see me here. Clutching the papers to my chest. 3. I've said it before, and I'll
For A., because we both loved Yeats. Because he did his laundry on Saturday nights. Because he's good with children even if he's afraid to have his own. Because he talked to his mother regularly. Because he wanted to be one