Grace, let me know when you’re ready to talk. I went to a poetry reading about crystal meth and depression last night while you were at Colleen’s, and the only thing I could relate to was that it was in English. I am clean. I am happy. It’s almost April and it’s like soldiers are marching home.
You’re teaching a friend to be more academic now, on your own time, which is nerdy as hell. Gabe has brought his grades up—all As and Bs. Wes—my protégée, my lieutenant—has apologized using his non-university email account.
I wanted to tell you that Gabe walked in on us last night when we were getting down to our business. Your back was to him and your eyes were closed, but I looked him right in the face. I wanted to tease him about it this morning, but got suddenly terrified he might say something hurtful and off-color.
The birds are tweeting this morning, what-the-fuck-was-that, about the storm last night.
You suggested I try this cream below my eyes, not because of the gray bags there, but rather, to experience its cold activation effect. I’m on to this, but will consider. Truthful, delicate suggestions are one of the advantages of marriage. I’ve applied it now.
Minimal damage to Gabe, I’m sure. But it was the first night in a while I had trouble sleeping.
Someone was tweeting about what makes for a good poem so I suppose they knew something. I disagreed in private, remembering the best that have been told often cut off three quarters of the way through with no satisfactory ending. The conversation turns left and happily.
There are also the violent epics, which we still talk about or at least allude to.
Be a dear, and finish up with your work. I also want to tell you about the two young men who keep walking past the house, obviously casing it, obviously goofs, obviously trouble of some kind. These days, my love for you is so open and convenient, I could split their heads if they stepped foot on the driveway. These men in shorts in winter in our front yard: try me.
But no, no. My mind is clear waters. I might at least gnash, but this duo are just lost kids, looking for love, jealous not of my TV, which is huge, but of the Kingdom.
You can visit Sean Ennis’s website here.