i remember the 8th grade, paper letters to carla, and how careful i was to craft them; afraid of saying too much for fear i'd be stuck, dark, nervous, frantic, waiting on the mail for relief, hoping what i had written would be well received, knowing the earth turned slowly and that an out of town football game might soon well come before her sweet, pale yellow perfumed correspondences. it was 20 miles from clarksville to ozark. we would kiss behind the band buses and she would talk about my letter. she was kind. and even if we'd said everything there was to say there in ozark, she always always wrote back.
jP 15.13.Y1
