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  • Dear Hennie,

    Remember the intensive Moleskine workshop we took
    with Jim Doran in Litchfield, that little Connecticut seaside town?
    I hadn't seen you recently, and you'd lost so much weight
    that I stared and stared at you. I called you Barbie; you had the boobs.
    Our classmates called the town ‘picturesque,’ but we laughed
    and called it ‘El Touristimo,’ as if either of us knew a word
    of Spanish. Because the last day of classes was Jim's birthday,
    we secretly prepared a whole giant folio Moleskine
    full of silly paintings of giant thumbs and underwater skulls
    with fish swimming through the eye sockets. You drew
    a tiny Jim eating a giant cabbage with a fork as big
    as he was, another of him paddling a banana canoe
    with a banana paddle. I turned every classmate into skulls
    and skeletons. To give Jim a hint, I painted a quirk
    on every skeleton. I gave Melissa a tent of a dress with many poles
    and circus banners and George's skull sported a pink
    and green Mohawk. On the night before the last class,
    we we had eight pages left to complete our gift.
    We went to every bar and cafe up and down the strip,
    but there were classmates in every one. We wanted
    it to be a surprise. And it was raining. We sat under a picnic table
    side by side at the top of the beach. You painted on the right,
    me on the left, while the surf rolled and roared and the spray
    drifted up, dampening the pages. The colors ran so sweetly,
    like Jim's tears of laughter the next day, when he opened our gift.

    I miss you, Hennie,
    Love, Mary



    Notes:
    1)The image(s) were painted by my friend Hennie Mavis of the two of us in one of our Moleskines. I apologize for the poor quality of the reproduction, the original is much better.
    2)This poem is from a dream I had about the Moleskine group that was facilitated by Jim Doran.
    3)The location, Litchfield, is from the dream. I'm not sure if I've ever been there in the waking phenomenal world.
    4)Sprouts in the form of letter poems, stories about strange gifts, dream poems or stories (or whatever) are welcome.
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