Brian and I had a great weekend in western Mass., sipping shamrock shakes, sunbathing in the park across the street from the hippie sandwich place, visiting Emily Dickinson's ghost. I got 6 books at Amherst Books for $36, while Brian napped on a park bench. As I exited the bookshop, I passed a man playing a harp in an alley.
Brian: How long were you in the bookstore?
Me: About an hour.
Brian: What were you doing in a bookstore for an hour?
One of the books I'm currently reading is this one, by Vera Pavlova:
Which I bought at Elliott Bay in Seattle because of the cover design by Chip Kidd.
Here's a poem of hers that I read on an airplane last week, coming back from my cousin's wake, and re-read, and re-read:
Multiplying in a column M by F
do we get one or two as a result?
May the body stay glued to the soul,
may the soul fear the body.
Do I ask too much? I only wish
the crucible of tenderness would melt
memories, and I would sleep, my cheek
pressed against your back, as on a motorbike...