minneapolis, i'm waiting to see you

Minneapolis: I'm waiting to see you in the highest heat of summer, lines shimmering off concrete. Mesh of my screen door smells like wet metal. Late at night when the house is quiet and it's still too hot, staying up to write letters, draw pictures, make dioramas, read books. Waking up early, working, writing. Sewing in the afternoon.

I dreamt I could go home and bring back my books, and now I finally can. Norwegian Wood, American Primitive, what else, what else? My prints from grad school rolled in a poster tube (not to jinx things, but there may be shows here I can take part in when I'm back), my little books from the class where I met B., a few drawings in frames for my walls.

When I come back to Nottingham (with, I hope, a finished draft of my first chapter, part of the next one, and a more polished introductory section written), it will be the beginning of fall, or at least the end of summer--things seem to merge into one another here. I'll have the view from my window only a few more days, and then a new one, high in the attic of a terrace house in my little town.

I can't wait to see my mom and dad, my brothers, my aunts and uncles and cousins, and my friends. To work and sew in the house where I grew up. To pet the rabbit and the dog. To feel the newness of England again when I come back.

Lucky life is like this. Lucky there is an ocean to come to.
Lucky you can judge yourself in this water.
Lucky you can be purified over and over.
Lucky there is the same cleanliness for everyone.
Lucky life is like that. Lucky life. Oh lucky life.
Oh lucky lucky life. Lucky life.

(Gerald Stern, from "Lucky Life")