Dear Wigleaf,

I've never had the right idea about you, so there's no use telling me about the wrong one. I flew into your city last August and can still feel its wet heat on my skin. Even though I'm half way around the world, your voice is in my head. As for your face, I didn't save the picture you sent and so the features are blurred in my memory. I got reading glasses but they don't help. The words on the page are hard to catch. They're like frogs hopping from one stone to another to another.






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Read MH's "The Last Swim."

w i g · l e a F               04-02-12                                [home]