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it’s not a memory

Emil Nolde, Dancer, 1913


 

ŌN’ur

atoner—bemoaner—boner—condoner—dethroner
droner—groaner—honer—intoner—moaner—owner
phoner—postponer—telephoner—stoner—donor

from The Complete Rhyming Dictionary The Complete Rhyming Dictionary and Poet's Craft Book (New York: Doubleday and Company, 1936.)


 

Hey, I saw that video you made. 31 million hits. Wow. That’s a lot of hits. Crazy. People probably think I’m a real jerk, to jilt a girl as pretty and smart as you.

I don’t know. When I’m with someone, the sweat and the smells, the feeling when I say goodbye after breakfast, have a good day. And then I walk up the street. It’s hot as hell; the city smells like fish. Some guy is hosing off the sidewalk in front of his bodega. He doesn’t sell bananas, only plantains. Suds on the pavement. Maybe it all comes down to the way a person tastes. I was just looking for something different.

I’d say you were sweet, but you weren’t; you thought about yourself all the time. My mom thought you were sweet. She heard your song on the radio. She said she always knew you’d make it, because you walked really well in high heels, even though you didn’t need them. She said she hopes you have a friend in her forties out there in L.A. Some nice lady who can show you how to take your makeup off with no hands.

It’s dumb how much people think and talk about love. It’s some kind of permanent curse, and you’re just passing it along. You’ll be alive for a long time after you stop pining away for perfect love. Handsome won’t even matter to you then.

You know how sometimes your parents show you a photo, tell you a story, and then it becomes one of your memories? Even though you were way too young, when they took the photo, to remember anything.

Actually, my mom says you can call her. Her home number is still the same.

 

 

(painting by Emil Nolde, Dancers, 1913)

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