You are asleep. The ward is quiet so I slip into your room disguised as a brain surgeon. I take your pulse. We sip the stale water. I take your pulse. This is why I write to you, this is how I began to love you: I saw you on television. I enjoyed your lecture…
My uncle had a birthmark a liver colored flame on his face. Who knows where that came from. I remember one photograph from 40’s Hollywood, my uncle Leo Carillo and a woman who was not my aunt for long and who was not the English Duchess my uncle could have married during the war. The…
oh! lucky girl! when you go home all the little boys will want to pull your pants off see your new U.S. steel legs shine
Spring 1997