Ptarmigan

a grouse with completely feathered feet

8/13/2003

Reetika had worked at Ann Taylor. I had forgotten that. It made sense at the time. Her poetry for me was about burnishing surfaces--rubbing them over and over until they shone, and then even going a little bit farther, until the enamel was worn off. Just a little bit. (But maybe not enough?) She was a sharp dresser and also sharp. In all senses of that word. She admitted to me once (with no shame or qualms) that she used to write in her cover letters that her poems weren't simulatenously submitted, even when they were...simultaneously submitted. That's the rub. Tactically brilliant, but strategically? In terms of keeping oneself hale? I don't know. I don't claim to speak for her, really. Or maybe even about her. It was a relatively long time ago. "I couldn't memoir my way out of a paper bag." Someone in my novel said that. More useless gestures shine.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home