"'a painter's ass' is not a phrase that immediately brings to mind an accessory to the artist's profession."

i sat at a table facing a glass cabinet with philip roth's patrimony in it. paperback, lilac-blue. my english teacher had, throughout the year, seemed unimpressed and in fact subtly derisive (or was it just smirking-dismissive?) at those times my eyes widened--times which occurred often, as i was just starting out and didn't even know yet how to pronounce half of the names i wanted to fall for. i was smitten but my colors were showing. green green green, scarlet, then-pink.

...

/

i had a dream this morning; bryce was in it. so was shannon! i visited them at their apartment in minnesota. they had a lovely, concrete-blocked grey garage even though they're supposed to live in an apartment (ah, dream logic, go-with-the-flow). they were nice to me and shannon was bright-eyed and had a generous smile. everything was blue, powder blues and grey blues. everyone's shirts and eyes and every wall or its trim...

i think that shannon stood two steps up, on a kitchen door landing?

(i hope this isn't creepy. it was a pleasant, serene dream.)

/

in the photo, i look like a midget but i don't mind 'cause i haven't thought of that day in a while and it brings it all back. for some reason my memories of that day are so vivid. a day with a school arts festival and eisels easels everywhere, on the lawn the grass. very green and my pants were inky blue stage crew paint pants; my dad's old hiphuggers--ha. my parents were bony as young'uns.

that day. it was a good one.