Eugene, 1993
I lived with a woman who loved ice cream,
shared a single bare mattress with her every night.
I owned a candy-pink Royal typewriter that cost eight dollars;
I sat on the floor & typed, sticky keys on brown paper.
In late summer, I picked warm blackberries in the alley
and walked the aisles of Safeway with stained fingers & mouth.
We never had money, but we always had wine. I scalded
and peeled fresh tomatoes to make her homemade marinara.
She moved out in September.
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that should make up for my procrastination on April 1. LOL. it's not very good, but i have wanted to put that typewriter in a poem for a while--i loved it. i can't believe i left it behind when i moved away. i wish i had it now. note, i'm not as concerned about my friend Holly.
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