Thursday, January 22, 2009

rumination #1

Dear Thesis,

How do I write you? 

I want to write like I would an email to my mom or a friend, and tell you about how small I feel when I look at the stars at night. Or about the window I walk by on my way home, the one at the white house on the corner of Terrace Street. It has a red curtain that glows so bright in the dark. I love to look at its folds and study its shadows. And sometimes I see a woman in the window next to it, but I can only ever see the top of her head. I think when I see her she's in the kitchen, washing the dishes after dinner. Her forehead and eyebrows peek over the windowsill above the sink. But I've never seen her face. And I want to tell you how sad that makes me, that I can't know that woman, that she never looks up as I'm walking by. Her eyes are always turned down to her task. And the wall between us feels so thick. But I can picture the way her hands are moving behind that wall, I can feel the warm water and smell the soap, and I can hear the sounds of silverware scraping the bottom of the sink as she reaches in to grab them. I can do this because I wash the dishes too. And I may not ever know that woman, but I know we have that in common.

Are these the kinds of things you want to hear?

Yours truly,

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