The fat girl in the doorway is actually the last photograph taken of me before my sex change. I had it the following afternoon.
Actually my hunch is that fat girl up in the photo is probably recreating some slumber-party event that Emily Dickinson lived through over at her place in Amherst. The kind of event that forged and baptized her as a poet forever. Just a hunch. I feel traumatized LOOKING at it.
It's winter and somehow reality's the same only with a little more emphasis. All these little greasy details I'm picking at with the dirty utensils of my brain:
I tried to write her a letter today. I had all these questions lined up. Or I thought I did. Stuff she could tee off on. Wheelhouse material for her. Girls get asked a lot of stuff all the time, so when you come up with some fresh original questions she's never heard before about herself she probably figures SHE'S the girl to raise some NEW questions in your life. And she might be right. I'm not talking a one-night stand or a revenge fuck scenario---I mean two people with chemistry who've had a little time together. It's another hunch, but I think this is the sort of stuff maybe they think about while giving you sexual favors. When you know they're going that extra mile. NOT because they know you love them. It's because it makes them feel better than their friends.
In the letter I was trying to figure out if everybody's heart is a pawnshop of the detritus from everybody we care/d about, if all her people were herded into a room at one time, did she think I knew enough about her to return their items? Could she return mine to their rightful owners?
What exactly makes HER my big fat redeemable coupon and me hers, anyway?
Whose responsible for all the dents, ditches, gutters, sewers, training wheels, rats, unworn baby shoes, crop circles, tarot cards, affidavits, hornets nests, trapdoors, hedge mazes, daughters, wives, mothers, mistresses, priestesses, princesses, widows, turned tricks, busted etch-a-sketches, scattered building blocks, wine stained teeth, dirty sheets, stolen bouquets, penthouse balconies, limos with nowhere to go, whirlpools, parking meters, lost grocery lists, copper glowing street lights, carpeted hallways, secret gardens, invisible inks, fountains, burned libraries, video game fairies giving my little hero-self life from a heart shaped box, scars, fortresses, moats, intercoms, Ivory towers, safety deposit boxes, jukeboxes, questionnaires, horoscopes, morning breath, cat naps, uniforms, masks, Ophelias napping in the pond, Sphinxes, belly dancers, mermaids, aquariums, sticker books, gum under desks, alleys, statutory holidays, proms, birthday cakes, tree houses, childhood files, family vacations, bridges, suicide notes, crossword puzzles, love letters, dungeons, convertibles, islands, outhouses, umbrellas, pinups, bed hair, hubcaps, science experiments, blowup dolls, motels, cookbooks, backseats, private petting zoos, snores, posters on your wall, flowerbeds, summer camps, explosives made from commonly found household items, calenders, long weekends, Indian summers, toothbrushes---YES I've fantasized about if you had an older and younger sister---speeding tickets, cracked windows, broken vows, prenuptial agreements, odor eaters, crib deaths, Franklin ovens, plungers, suction cup cupid arrows, rest homes, Yoko Onos, stutters, field trips, flat tires, pacts, Indian givers, everlasting gob stoppers, tanning salons, no-tag backs, coloring books, lottery tickets, instead-of-living-together
Hmmm?
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