From “Educating Pizzy”

“My dearest Joe,

I hardly write any letters. This one encountered a difficult birth. I have thought about it for many days and yet I could not get my trusted pen to write down the words that tumbled from my mind. They disappeared into my soul and smothered there. Covered-up they became a barrel filled with red grapes, fermenting and bubbling. Finally they blew off the lid, spewing across these pages like blood…I will die Joe…I know it sounds final for me, frightening to you. The shadows around me remind me of the tomb I have soon to enter. I looked at a painting of Eurydice in the Underworld. I listened to Mahler’s Second Symphony, you sent to me and some quietness settled in my mind. But then Joe, I see your face and its expression of a desperate search for me. I do not want you to think I have abandoned you. It is a greater power. I have taken the picture of three women, symbolizing fate, from the wall of my room. I cannot look at them any longer. I talk as if I am already dead. Sorry Joe, don’t cry. This is a shock to me as much as it will be to you. I cannot help it. I have to tell you this. Joe, it took me weeks to muster courage. You are the first to know. I am crying, I cannot hold my pen right now…I have broken the cap, smashing the top of the pen you gave me for a present. Excuse the tear drops, it’s a mess…

Forgive me Joe, I stopped again, the teardrops have dried, the ink dissolved at places like my life has.

The drops of tears are for you. I left them, starting to write anew.

Joe, my poet, my man, my writer, my lover my other husband, even, if I am fantasizing: please listen to me. Why could I not meet you twenty years ago? We matched perfectly. I feared this more than anything else. When I met you for the first time, my knees buckled-up, my body started to stir immediately when you kissed me and the flash fire of want flared-up in me as you touched me and I felt your passion enveloping me. How wild has been the passion between us, a wild horse galloping into the endlessness?

Joe, I love you more than life, but life does not love me. I know what the Three Sisters do right now: Laughing with glee in the cupboard I locked them in. Atropos, the one with the wrinkled face like an old dried plum, waiting with her scissors to cut my thread of life…

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