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

[queerbychoice.livejournal.com]

Pudding is yummy, but the ones with yellow food coloring (which is pretty nearly all of them) can sometimes give me migraines, so I'm afraid to eat pudding as often as I otherwise would.

I still risk it on occasion, though.

Memory market hedge fund.

[altamont.livejournal.com]

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.

Nice poem, for all that. Like most (I guess) used bookshops we've got a large collection of odd notes and snapshots and bookmarks from defunct bookshops that came to us as stowaways. The most interesting make it to the collage in the wayback. The others usually stay snug in their beds. Me, I think such bits of memory create more memory as they circulate away from home, sort of the way credit increases the money supply along with the freshly-minted stuff. Recursions/regressions represent the inevitable market corrections.

Oy, check me, I'm David effin' Brancacchio. Sorry. Nice poem, like I said.

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

"Proof" is also a pretty good aussie film with Hugo Weaving and Russell Crowe, worth NetFlixing. Darkly comic, etc.

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

Mind you don't crack a crown on the hidden ha'penny.

Mmmmm pudding. My last fond memory of Bill Cosby before he got tedious. Think I'll go nag Brian at the Cajun place to do his bread pudding with whiskey sauce again. Numm-eh.

Does semi-liquified Nutella (the jar in the car on a sunny day) count?

[peteralway.livejournal.com]

Old pieces of paper: Buried in binders in the heavy cedar chest under the wicker chest and the plastic bookshelves is the time capsule of correspondence with Riin from before we lived together. Maybe someday it will fascinating artifact of the last generation of handwritten weekly correspondence before email turned it into volitile bits and bites that turn unreadable with each change of storage medium. There are stories and pitures I want to retrieve from those letters some day, but I don't dare look for now.

Once I found some music on an old scrap of paper in my dulcimer bag.

Healthy hair: I've often ranted "But it's dead! It's dead! Something dead can't be healthy!" I've said the same thing about healthy foods, too.

Pudding: I remember the kind of pudding mix my mom heated on the stove, and poured into a small bowl and added a marachino cherry and put it in the fridge and the skin formed on it which was kind of exciting, along with the occasional bubble that broke the surface and looked like a crater on the moon, which they were gonna land on in a few years with Project Apollo, which, in retrospect, suffered for the lack of a theramin soundtrack.

pudding

[vjsmom.livejournal.com]

Brian had pudding today. Jeff did too (in his lunch). I'm the only one in our family who didn't get any pudding. But you can't have any pudding if you don't eat your meat. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?