Thomas St, Dublin
16 January ——
]]] I walked by College Green today and thought of you, your temperamental fringe and your sensitive
teeth. I got coffee in our usual spot— [
] the same crowds of people, [
] Not you, though, of course: the one glaring error. [
] boring a read. Apologies [ ] unwavering [
*
Boulevard du Palais, Paris
21 March ——
You would be so at home here. [ ] the one [
] building a world to
have waiting [ ] somewhere ready for you [
] I can tell which
places would feel like yours; [
] Just like me, really. If honesty doesn’t go stale in a letter.
Work good, food spectacular, friends [
*
Thomas St, Dublin
30 March ——
] envy the work, that you devote time to it; the food, [
] compliment it; the friends, that they may be with you and
love you and be loved by you in real time. Also, their multilingualism!
I hope your shared coattails [
*
Via della Scala, Florence
1 June ——
] very rude of you to [
] and leave again.
*
Thomas St, Dublin
15 June ——
] (Apologies [
] unwavering [[[
save the date
(on euphoria)
10/18
11/19
??/??
A soaring joy, and a poetic circularity—
There she is. There she is, & she is singing.
Relief overwhelming and sweet; its own kind of bodily inertia—
We clamber onto the bus & I remember spontaneity & my own agency & what it’s like to laugh uncontrollably in a confined space with someone you really, really love. We sit there, still & yet sprinting; some teenager doesn’t pay her fare & the driver doesn’t seem to notice.
The walk down the hill from the bus stop is an upturned pathetic fallacy: a world of warmth, endless blue; marigold & rich violet & sun-kissed, diaphanous green. We order hot chocolates. They’re too sweet. We are free. We don’t owe anyone anything.
The height unprecedented, and the depth unbridled—
The ceiling is high, & the walls are white, & there are flowers everywhere. There is art, hanging, & bookshelves teeming with well-thumbed pages. Perhaps a record player. The last of the sun has set: one final kiss through the open windows as conversation floats out to meet it.
I get off the phone. My lover has been listening in, watching me with a smile so wide it’s blinding. We look at each other a moment. Then—rapture. Everything, all of it, worthwhile. The news is good. The world is good. It has come for me & mine.
Tate Fountain is large and contains multitudes. When not paraphrasing Whitman, she enjoys writing, and walking, and telling jokes which her loved ones find exhausting. Her most recent work can be found in Starling and Minarets.
Please note that due to its formatting, ‘Save the Date’ is best viewed on a tablet or computer.