NaBloPoMoDay 19: Random Love Notes

Before there was Halushki.

From dog-eared notebook pages

and miscellaneous scraps of paper.

From some different initials from a time long, long ago....

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dear miss apathy

i am sorry for being crazy.

i guess I really flipped my wig.


i was jealous.

and I missed you.


if you ever leave limbo,

perhaps you will visit me

in

the

snow.


you can bring a bottle of wine

(it doesn't matter what kind)


and I will give you

a bouquet

of brightly colored

socks.



wendy



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I flip through my files: my choices.
always watching the curtains and your will be done." dirty old man. stupid girl. i wanted to be the other choice A, for example, is the dark night, starry sky, talking to that boy - my boy - telepathic directions to this hothouse, hugging myself, wishing sister joan of arc's Young Husband would kiss me, a real first kiss, wondering whether sister immaculata would be jealous (shrew, she would nag and how could he ever be that loving and merciful?) i was supposed to be that blue-ish girl, silent, pious, tiptoe and dare to tilt eyes upward, occasionally. "here i am. see how silent I can be? if you need me, if you have anything to say to me, just flutter the curtains...or something. i'mmary. the mary that pierced her own ears and wore pink quartz in her bellybutton. the mary that slapped around in bare feet and laughed to herself, low, low, low, when girls were around to hear her laugh - they called her screwy, and the boys got hardons, convinced that only they could make her laugh that way. she laughed like that, alone. and mary yelled and threw tantrums and broke clay urns. and she stole horses and rode bareback and didn't wash for days - she slept, knees to chest, smelling the horse sweat soaked deep into her thighs. and she prayed to god, but she shouted, with head thrown back, "stop coming by in the middle of the night, hiding in my windows, talking to me in my sleep. i want to look You in the eye" she asked for things. she asked for someone to dance for. someone to drink with. someone to laugh with and fling urns at. someone to lie with and curl around like gabriel's wings, and she could whisper, "listen, i'm really not so good" and she wouldn't have to pretend anymore that she wasn't.

(instead, i grew my hair - long enough to wash my own feet)

that mary probably calls him baby. still.

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Dear Mr. Toscanini,

Hello.

I am sane.

Inexplicably.


If you ever have the urge to
call/write/send up a flare


(now

or ever in the nonexistent future)


to communicate your interest
in getting together for


a. beer

b. show

c. cigar
d. game of Parcheesi

I won't misinterpret it as a pathetic, lovelorn expression
of preternatural desire
to bask in
my presence.

I promise not to pinch you
or do girl things.


Honest injun.
Cross my heart and pizza pie.



(I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.
I starred in a documentary on the trucking industry.)


Miss Demeanor

Cell Block D

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Who was that girl?


3 comments:

Professor J said...

I will bring some shiraz if you still have those brightly colored socks. This post is sweet, Jozet.

Jozet at Halushki said...

Aw, shucks.

Well, we all had to start somewhere. I like to trot out the old goofy stuff once in a while. It's fun to play one's own youthful Muse on occasion.

lildb said...

you are lovely. and amazing.

they totally stole the title for that movie from you. I apologize for them. bastards. shameless bastards.

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