a letter

Dear Emily,
I must tell you, reading your works in class can be a bit daunting (to say the least!). I have decided, however, that since you are most fond of communication via post that this would be the best way to ask you what in God's name is going on!?

Yes, Emily, I have found your Fascicle. Where you might ask? Did I sneak past Carlo to pillage your drawers? Did I bribe your sister to give them to me? No, Emily, they have all been published, and I have copies of them all. Please don't freak out, the content of your poetry is disturbing and quite frankly I'm CONVINCED that these are a cry for help.

I think you know what fascicle I'm talking about. Fascicle 15, specifically, "If I may have it, when it's dead." For real, Emily? I'll have you know, that breathing bodies are MUCH more interactive than their lifeless analogues. Yes, yes, I know what you'll say. You'll tell me that the poem is in the fascicle for a reason, that when read in context, this poem has a sarcastic meaning. That speaks to those who lust for the sake of lust, not caring that the object/person they're chasing is actually rotten at the core, literally.

When we first started reading your poetry (that's right, there's more than just me reading this...you have quite a following you know) I grew tired of your poems about bees and flowers and blablabla...but now, I think I want some of those poems back!

Are you angry at Carlo for stealing your dinner? I'd be angry too, heck, when my ferrets destroy my shoes I flip out, but that doesn't make me want to pay an amorous visit to the morgue.

I'm sorry, Emily, I'm being sarcastic. It's a defense mechanism, I'm just SO worried about you. Do you feel like your romantic life is failing you? Do you want to give up the chase and stop perusing those you love simply because they're married? Is it worthless?

You write a lot about things not being what they seem. In "The Color of the Grave is Green" you write about how grass and snow may cover a grave but no matter how green the grass is, or how white and lush the snow is, the inside will not reflect the outside. (I will say, I'm quite pleased that you mentioned ferrets in this poem in the FINAL line, oh my, imagine my Oliver and Emily's surprise when I told them that you mentioned them!)

I assure you Emily, not everything is as worthless as it seems. I know you already know that, but sometimes people just need a reminder. Things aren't always what they seem, but that doesn't necessarily mean that we need to hug corpses.

Hug alive people.

Or maybe dogs. Hug Carlo.

Best wishes,
P_A

P.s
Remember that