It's not the cup reminding me of the home I thought I was going to share with a promise of marriage.
It's not the cup reminding me Florence never went beyond Grand Street with her dreams.
It's not the cup reminding me of my own diaspora.
It's not the the cup reminding me of the shot in the dark at the possibility of new.
It's a new cup with a cartoon character I rarely saw as a kid who lived in a neighborhood I've never been to and all it reminds me of is a wonderful friendship that always opens up into doubled over laughing so hard while stumbling through the hell of words often referred to as the Joy of Writing.
3 comments:
Stumble laughing through hell of...whoops, "joy" of writing only possible with co at side.
that is a cool looking cup and an even more wonderful living memory attached to it.
New memories sweep out the old . . . like the West was going to sweep out the East.
T.
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