discards from Bergamot
I was trying to write a new poetry novel, this one about vampires and memory and preservation(ism). But I can't make it work. I am dumping some discards here--things I like but need to remove. from the old Bergamot When she’d been a girl, old enough to drive a car but not old enough to know a thing, she’d been a lifeguard at the swimming pool of a fancy apartment building. There’d been a family. A littler girl fell into the water. One girl plucked another girl from t he deep end. The family raised their happy hands. The father was friendly and kind. The mother was friendly and kind. Thereafter they brought elegant and simple lunches to the girl: a slender sandwich with turkey and a simply sliced baby dill. The summer w as tinged with this small victory. There was a festive kind of trance on the blue cement of the pool deck. When she was no longer a girl but not an adult she’d been a waitress at a well regarded but modest restaurant. She arrived at a table with menus. Rig ht there w...