September 1, 2000

Wow.  That was my first impression upon entering the Kerouac house.  All   those involved in the Kerouac Project of Orlando have created quite a masterpiece with the renovation of the home.  It is very much like walking into a 1950s time capsule.  The furniture, decor, and even the linens are true to the era.  It is quite beautiful and a testament to the dedication of the volunteers.

I am getting used to Florida and honestly, I already love it.  It was unnerving at first to walk across the yard and see tiny lizards scurry out of my path.   I’ve learned, though, that they’re harmless, extremely fast, and eat roaches. My kind of animal.

Anyway, I’d like to share some of the writing I have been able to complete so far.  I may revise it further later on, but it exists as it is right now.   Have a great Labor Day weekend! I hope to do some writing on the beach.

Erin

What I Forget

This is what I forget
     in the crooked ebb of day,
this day that begins flesh-
     white on a metered sky
that ticks
by one quarter at a time.

I watch my body
     float without a line
across my chest.
I stack each hour like blocks
morning on the bottom,
night’s stars on top
as severed triangles.

If I could press time
     through Rodin’s hands,

work now only with the good part,
     the part worth mentioning,

it would be late June again
under a lime tree,
under a sky burning
with heat lightning.

There would be the familiar
smell of smoke off the interstate,
and the hibiscus blooms
searing my legs.

And I’d remember that
this is what I have
to offer you—

a simple muscle
     without wings.