Americans,
claude le monde no networks, no nukes, not notcakes
how we do: + you are # |
10:58 am | 10 July 2003 | very much I wrote the following a long long time ago (when I was 20, i think? then revised at 21?) for two people with whom i was in love (it's complicated). For a long time afterwards i couldn't read or even look at this piece--how could i have been so wrong, i would think, and would be doubly sorry because i really liked it (the poem, not the disappointed heart). Here, read it before i conclude my point. So i was rereading this with a heavy heart, wracking myself over symbolism (i tend to write in such a specialized lexicon of image that when the impetus behind a poem or story no longer exists i can't stand to look at it), and i was thinking to myself "well, those two were definitely not that city" and then it struck me that there's kind of a weird synchronicity to it. Because three years later i found a black dog, who must not've been very much missed, because she didn't go home--not to her original home, anyway. Instead, she came to mine. So I hereby & publicly rededicate this piece to Guinn. I've got a house-big heart where we all live, unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |