Stay away stay away the one that totally withdrew, the one that wouldn’t take no for an answer, this is not an unusual situation, this is not a catch-up, this is not catching up, this is not a spirit, this is not a des-spirit.
Desk.
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I heard about Immaculée praying the rosary to survive while shut up in a bathroom for weeks, hiding from murderers.
Something I want to know? Don’t know.
I said the rosary everyday for a year. Maybe it was a school year. My sophomore year. The cheesy pearlized paint flaked off my little white first communion beads. Once I lost the rosary—it fell from my pocket. That immediate pang of irrational loss— desperation. I retraced my steps and found it, on top of a desk in a classroom. I was ashamed that someone had found it on the floor, maybe even identified it as possibly mine, and decided to place it on the desk for the owner to more easily find. It meant another person was thinking about my things.
There’s a stack of paper next to me and a stack of poems in front of me. “Backwoods Broadsides.” I enjoy seeing them there, in a little box decorated with pears. There’s a pile of pink ribbons with white dots on this desk. I picked them up from a rainy Nantucket sidewalk outside the Unitarian church. After a wedding. I guess they’d been used to tie wedding favors together.