Feeling the Feeling I Felt

The next day, I understood French. Standing by the curb in my bathrobe and slippers on a frosty morning, looking for the paper in the shrubs, I saw the sparkling blades of grass and heard the crystals crunch beneath my feet in a suburb of a suburb of New York City—all right, Jersey—

Heart Is Killing

Dear mother, father dear sisters, dear wife, babies I am not sadness dying. That pain does not kill me. The stronger is making me I am sure when I work too long if I will ever come back. You send me everything from your letters that home is new. You are spending my money I hope.