(Another letter I wrote to you and never sent)

J. Dove, 10:34

Haidy Haidy Haidy Hi, Haidy haidy haidy hoe. Got your postcard yesterday, ran my fingers through my hair, tilting my head to one side and smiled a smile laced with mirth + confusion. Then thought about some of the strange writings I’ve sent you from time to time wondering your expressions as you muddled your way through the chaotic word salad of my meager existence.

Today is beautiful, I’m working a shift at a group home with two girls here, glorified baby-sitting it is - so while they watch CABLEVISION on a sunny Sunday I sneak outside to read my latest interest: "Soledad Brother," the prison letters of George Jackson - just finished the autobiography of Angela Davis. Guess the theme for the month is black oppressed communists. Reading made me think of youse ergo this portion of the letter is being created with you in mind.

And the little one, fingers black with ink, wondered if her acceptance by American Private Investigator is but another scam to rob the ignorant public - pubic in her case. Energy is destroyed by those who cannot possess it.

I haven’t heard from Vic and me thinkest that he does not love me anymore. And I ovulate to the sound of interstate traffic wondering who the father of MY children will be - he’s out there somewhere you know, it’s just a matter of time before he finds me + I find him. I’ve been thinking about children a lot lately, perhaps this is due to a "woman’s biological clock" - what the hell, I’m a slave to my body.

And the stairs lead to a secret garden where only the titmouse knows my name + the curve of my breasts. Oh my, I’m such a goddamned FREAK! while people drive past hurriedly to catch the evenings "Cheers" reruns and the Gods ask who are you? Who who, who who?

I’m finally feeling settled lately - not feeling pressured or rushed to make my mark in social work. "And I said to myself, what a wonderful world."

Took Aunt Maise out on Friday night to a little Greek place - ordered some Retsina + presented to her a travel account with a $100.00 balance so she can go visit Dionne in Crete.

Tom mom flim phlam where to go to show whomever who I am and we set the alarm for some godforsaken experience to occur as it were after sending away a self-addressed stamped envelope and two cereal boxtops.

Posers play in the park some strange African beat while at their feet forgotten dreams discarded to make room for vocation pursuits per suits four for thirty nine cents, penny for your thots, half my retirement for your company.

Looks like it’s time for a new typewriter ribbon - found myself another vagabond in town + I do so want to be in love and though it’s only been 4 months I don’t know where to start or shall I say how or who...am I being vague enough yet?

Here I be sitting pretty in an apartment gazing out over the entire Nawlins skyline thinking if I were Yertle the Turtle...Hard to find soulmates in this city. You were right, I should + will find my own coffee clutch. I finally feel as if I am listening to my soul. When I sit back to think about my everyday existence I smile, for, damn it, I’m happy, content and meditative.

Mowing lawns is much more bearable with Pete gone - he’s in the Virgin Islands sailing for two weeks. Tonight, dinner at Grandma + Grandpa’s with the nuns - Sister Ann + Sister David. They talked about warning young girls to take phone books with them on dates so if they sit on a boys lap they can slip the book in between the private parts. Witch which witch pitch + she’s a bitch with a twitch accompanied by an itch that you don’t take home to mother.

Got your letter today - Thank you from the bottom of my high security heart. Starting this page with no intention of filling it for the time being. Taking a quick smoke before I head to bed. Sending a postcard off tomorrow to your old flat in Paraguay. I hope to God + the virgin mother that they haven’t thrown it out with the trash. From now on I photocopy my letters to you.