Jack Gilbert is dead &

Roman Ondák’s room of heights

I thought for a brief moment that this was a wall with people who have died, which I thought maybe had Jack Gilbert and now I'm sad that Jack Gilbert's name isn't written on a wall somewhere with his death date written on it that isn't a gravestone because there's something not holy enough about a stone next to an impermanent wall, that will one day be washed away with our names on a slab and replaced with someone new. It seems all together more fitting, I think, at least for a poet. Maybe I'll do that one day.

"You just make me a happy person."

is a good thing to hear.

Things you buy that aren't things

I'm looking at a belt I bought on a pair of shorts in China Town, and in the end I don't think I really wanted them, but the woman was so sweet. And when I was trying them on she told my mom, "You have two older boys? Boy, boy, girl. That's good luck!" and I always think about that & I'm remembering that now. And I'm just thinking I probably would have paid her 12 bucks to feel like we were lucky and worry a little less. This happens a lot. One night me & lexi were staying out really late, doing what? I don't remember but we had some of the greatest conversations, walking home, sitting on the steps of the whiskey bar, sneaking into school to talk out of windows, and I was sure that it would be more fun if I was half sitting in mine, her talking to my dangling legs-- but it wasn't and then my pelvis hurt. The bartender called us a cab and hated us for drinking lavender tea and we sat, now on the steps talking about everything, took the cab to our houses, but it was a lot more than a ride, because we talked about about life and work and fear and family and even death. We got life lessons from that cab driver, sometimes you do.