Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Us Bank sends an envelope with a view. I see:

Ben Parman
1713 North Marshall Street
Milwaukee, WI 53202-1518

Ben Parman? In Milwawwwkeee? Working at a dating service, wearing North Face zipper-off khakis and various bland long-sleeved collared shirts? What about New York? What about love? What about us?

Stuff it like a turkey. There is nothing better than now. There is the savior’s love, and Billy Collins’ poetry, and, and Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit”, and my parents’ thoughtless sacrifices. These blessings are flight attendants, bending down with perfumed bosoms. I have been taking their pretzels and water without looking up. This morning my face turns, squeaks open with a slow smile, and I receive with the beginning of gratitude.

I am starting to learn how to temporarily forget myself, like wet clothes at the bottom of the washer. Of course occasionally something reminds me and I run screaming to them, cradling their limp drippage into the dryer with mother hen concern. But I do forget for a moment here and there. They are moments worth framing.

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