Saturday, January 12
I arrived for our writer's date incredibly sweaty & odds in favor of smelly as well. As I stripped out of my sweatshirt and headed to the bathroom (that I realized was a spa), Elizabeth knew exactly the comment that would make me feel invincible: "You look so Everlast with that tank top". Everlast being a word that I associate with a midnight boxer-with-ripped-arms champion over pale, body much neglected midwesterner. After tonight's work out, I certainly had my rose colored glasses on: I am a midnight boxer. Whatever that is.0 comments
Claude, Elizabeth's boyfriend, was out on the town so we used his super chic apartment for our own little meeting space. This place has original abstract art with deep meanings but Elizabeth and I could only see polar bears, century old violins, original letters writter by famous celloists, retro couches, etc. And as I quickly jumped in the shower, I marveled at Claude's excellent choice of dried lavender sitting next to an odd shaped candle in the tub with me. I felt ashamed thinking of my own bathroom whose style was influenced by your Grandma. By the time I was done, there were two lovelies (other than Elizabeth) that waited for me: a gin martini in a retro fish doodled martini glass and the new Bruce Springsteen cd blaring on the stereo. We drank, Elizabeth succeeding in getting me way, way, way tipsy (an event that has only happened one other time with Melissa), and danced to/ analyzed the words of Bruce while reading each other's poetry/ prose. With Elizabeth's head resting on my shoulder and our eyes gazing upon her glowing mac book, we re-invented our sexy song list, philosophical stand on sexology (hi Lindsey!), Hillary Clinton, and re-lived the most embarassing moments of our lives which luckily we endured together. I will end this post with a few Elizabeth VB poetrysnips that melted me last night (and three winters ago).
New:
"some skitched along the neighborhood streets, braving curves and brakes.
in the towing car, i looked over my shoulder
trying to keep the sled in sight, make eye contact to
tell you how the clench of my stomach
was not the effect but the cause of my love for you
Three winters ago: (Because she wrote it about me!)
V.
I peaked the hill from the steep mississippi
river of toil and song and legend and time
Old Man River, filthy and unforgetful
but the leafblower at the crest was looking reverently down on his work,
his granite sweatshirt a monk's cowl
and halted by his religiosity in the midst of my own selfabsorption
I decided to send you the letter
the relief I felt at the wetstampseal
didn't keep me from starting to eat meat again
but like all apostates
I refuse to regard my return as anything but free will
even with the revolving doors that turn against a sense of cliche
soft doorslams like betrayals
and one goddamm moct I have no photograph of
-Elizabeth VB.
posted by Jenny Saturday, January 12, 2008
