La carta nunca recibí

Yesterday,
despite checking my email periodically,
I never received this.




Subject: Hey!

There you are! I've been looking for you for so long. I'm sorry none
of my other emails got through. Turns out I was spelling your name
without the last e. I didn't remember how it should be spelled.
That's funny cuz usually ppul don't know how it's pronounced, eh?

Anyway, I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye before I left. I'm currently
in Cork, India. It's been snowing a lot, but the bikes are still good
and the kittens haven't gotten rusty. I wish I could show you this
peach I've been sculpting.

The potatoes are all sprouting and they can't see very well yet.
There are no sad robots here. We are all nicely oiled humming
machines. I have not broken any teeth and most of the time we drink
red tea with lunch.

I do not miss our old home. I've just arrived but I feel like I'm
constantly arriving. It's not so bad you know, to forget. I
remembered you. I thought maybe you'd want to come. Oh, do tell me
how things are going there! I did not leave anything behind. I
didn't have anything to leave. It would be nice to see people again
though.

You can write in Chinese here, but no one remembers how to speak it.
A couple of the old men say they remember and they have meetings twice
a month. Nobody would mind. Beneath the grass, I think the ground
is made of sponges.

I do hope you can visit. You should make sure first that you don't
leave anything behind. And the old men would probably like to see
your Chinese book (Josh told me you're taking Chinese now). I miss
you and I hope I can still make you laugh. There are many things I
think you'd enjoy. Why don't you write more often? I would like to
read some of your stories.

Please meet me above Eliot circle at 9:10pm Thursday morning. Just
get on board the train. 98 Zephyr makes the trip a couple of times
every month. I'll be in the 48th passenger car, so don't train hop,
come find me! I'll probably bring my friend the Yeti. You should
bring your guitar. We'll it need to sing Wagon Wheel.
We're going home.


I don't know who will sign it. Maybe I'll just know. Maybe the poets
can tell me. Maybe it's whomever I was in the tavern with when this
drunkenness began.