Dear Virginia, | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram

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Dear Virginia,



We made it. Oh my goddess, we made it. You sent me this beautiful green

chair with this beautiful green woman in her beautiful light blue

white strapped shoes. She looks like a bluebird. She feels like a deer. She

is laying on this beautiful green chair like a feather. I think of erasing my

Mother while I believe she is here. She is floating, see how the legs are

dark and in shadow. She is floating, see how her eyes are tipped down

and she feels herself tall inside the forest that she is listening to the forest

believing it is her; the birds are speaking for her. She is lovely. She is

magic. She knows. She knows as deep as deep as a chair knows.

                                                                                You sent her to me ten

feet away melting in soft green mint white light that is misting from that

lawn chair now because it is holding us between our frozen spaces. We

are softer for it, for feeling the mist, for experiencing it like fabric,

for feeling the towels we were wrapped in out of the tub, for knowing how

our stomachs curve to each other when we hug and breathe and laugh

because we know it. It is scary. It doesn’t seem write. It doesn’t seem

right. I will love just like I love this green chair in front of me. I will

move on because I need to be alone. I need to have friends. I need to

learn about friendships. Not Titantics. Not barges. Not fishing ships.

Friendships. That is what I need in my life and I have.

                I will make an installation tonight of a green tent and bathtub.

I will finish my paintings of crystals. I will work on the totems for

healing. I didn’t come here to do anything I said I was going to do.

Why am I such a romantic. Why is there poetry in everything. Why

do I believe this is a book release, all set up for a book release, and one

syncing period. Why is the lamp on its side. Why are all the chairs in

my studio. Why do I see fish everywhere. Why do I feel ghosts.

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