[Haven't had cause for a letter for a long time.]
I submitted Scarmarella a long time ago to the Legacy, the annual publication of the English department at Southern. It didn't get in, not least of which reasons was that my best friend, the editor, didn't like it at all. I didn't submit my heart-strings because I needed them massaged. I expected and deserved to be turned down. I think I did it to feed my persecution complex, but I do know this: if Scarmarella had been committed to paper, left in the unforgiving reality of ink or toner or oil paints or balsamic reduction or whatever marks make permanent stains, I don't think she would have fared as well as she did in my heart. It's a half-poem, at best. The imagery is muddled and the rhythm owes more than half its weight to Gerard Manley Hopkins, but I love it. Spin, Scarmarella, and don't stay too long. You were always better when I couldn't see you well.
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