Found this poem in a box. Wrote it for Denise Dankert one long time ago.

[fflo]

 
I have been finding notes from you

Tonight a postcard in a book of poems,
Norman Rockwell painted Huckleberry Finn,
January '84:  "Our phone is being installed
on the 11th"       "Hello to the Boys"

The other day in the Shakespeare
a coffee-stained legal sheet---
Bob Melvin finally hit a home run
as all day of a Sunday with Chet
you were waiting for me

And in a box for special things
a Social Security card I was after
and the red card poem, 8-13-88, Carroll County


Surprise:  not the us they recall
that is other, but the places,
pictures of the gone    or not yet    world

You'd think I'd planned it,
like scraps hidden in Laura's room,
perfect plants for moments like these
poignant comings-across in a future
with or without you still around
---or, as it turns out, both


Yeah, this entry is about finding an old piece of paper with a poem on it that's about finding old pieces of paper (one of which has a poem on it). And that ain't the only way it's regressive.


P.S.  I just saw a clip from the upcoming Gwynneth Paltrow movie in which her character quibbles with the notion of "healthy" hair (at which I've bristled for many moons) and then chides the woman she's talking to (as I might well feel the urge to do in the same circumstances) for contrasting "organic" with "chemical". The only other thing I know about the film is that it's called Proof, but that's enough to suggest it could be a little close for comfort. And thus potentially utterly compelling.

I always think that Hal Hartley film Trust was called Proof, even though I've memorized that it wasn't.

"Proof" is quite a word. And it's in the pudding, too.

Pudding. Mmmmm. How long since you've had pudding?

[Poll #566470]

Comments

[fflo.livejournal.com]

I reckon I've told you how I suck at reading plays. Except, say, Shakespeare, where the staging stuff if minimal and it's majorly dialogue-y. Film scripts I do a little better with, but my imagination has some kind of gap, or distracts too much of the rest of me when it does kick in, or something like that.