|
This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v102) (the January 2012 Issue)  You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:  |
|
| |
|
Order this writing in the book It Was All Preordained (a Down in the Dirt collection book) |
 |
get the 320 page January-April 2012 Down in the Dirt magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book: 
|
| ||
|
Order this writing in the book After the Apocalypse (prose edition) (the 2012 prose collection book) |
 |
get this poem collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:
|
| ||
July 9, 2011
My Dearest Clyde,
Before I left my apartment last Saturday, I had a sudden urge to spray my wrists with Cashmere Mist (there are still a few drops left). I didn’t give it a second thought until I approached the corner of 42nd Street and 7th Avenue and saw them, amid clusters of frazzled tourists, eager rookie cops, and disgruntled pretzel vendors.
He stood a head taller than her. His freshly pressed, short-sleeved, plaid button down shirt was half a size too big and hung perfectly over his khaki cargo shorts. Her stylish sundress looked new and flowed freely, just as her straight blond hair did. Her strut was modelesque but when she stopped to wait for the traffic light to change, she fiddled with the label of her knock-off designer bag without even realizing it.
His arm was draped proudly over her shoulders, and although they were deeply engrossed in conversation, they exuded an unmistakable blend of innocence and sheer confidence that nothing was going to hold them down. With widened eyes, they looked at their city the same way they looked at each other, and saw nothing but endless love and opportunities. As I squinted to get a closer look, I was certain I saw the corners of their lips curled up, ever so slightly, reflecting the same grin that used to complete our faces.
When she caught me staring, all I could do was smile, but I made sure to take a mental Polaroid before crossing the street. They reminded me so much of us ten years ago.
The image of the pair consumed me for days; I couldn’t shake it, until yesterday evening, when it finally rained hard enough to wash away the humidity that made it impossible to breathe. It was then it all finally clicked – I had become a grown-up. And somewhere between graduate school, working 60 hour weeks, and navigating my way through an endless emotional rollercoaster ride, I lost my ability to be fearless. And it sucks.
So from here on in, I vow to you, my first true love, to try my hardest to approach each new day armed with the confidence that at any given moment, I could still pull of a bank robbery, if I wanted to.
Send my love to your wife and sons
Always,
Bonnie
