Seattle 3, or Some Public Letters

Dear, Veracruzana, Bueno Y Sano, Rosa Mexicana, and every other "Mexican" restaurant on the East Coast,

You have officially been dumped in favor of the Pacific coast states. Even the most lowbrow burritos here are invariably delicious. They're not completely gigantic (ahem, Bueno), nor are they completely filled with rice (right, that's you, Veracruzana), but have mouth-bursting, throat-burning, yes-that's-fresh-cilantro flavor.

I am in love.

Maybe we can still be friends?

~Dane

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Dear Rain,

You're a shy little minx, aren't you? I haven't seen your pretty face since the day I landed. No, it's been sun, sun, and clear skies. I can see Mt. Rainier from Maya and Ela's porch today. It's beautiful. It feels like spring.

Really, no pressure. Come back when you're ready. Stay wherever you are for a little while.

Love,
~Dane

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Dear Jason,

I've decided to take you up on your generous offer to let me stay with you guys for a month while we all try to figure out our next housing moves. I will especially enjoy being allowed to use your vast collection of Le Creuset pots and pans, your adorable kitchen, and your beautifully clean and artistic house. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. So sorry it has to kick off right when Passover does - don't blame me for the grumpiness, it's just my digestive system.

Namaste,
~Dane

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Dear Faire Gallery and Cafe,

I love your space. Having a second-floor gallery to look down on the open mic performers is kind of genius (especially since there's also enough room on the bottom floor to not make it feel like one is performing from the bottom of a swimming pool.) I enjoyed the warmth and camaraderie of your open mic, especially the rousing cheer I got when I told everyone I'd landed in Seattle a day and a half ago. It was a poet's introduction.

Au Revoir,
~Dane

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A poem.

Jake, that sneaky bastard,
found out where I was staying
in Seattle
and sent me a letter
that said mostly nothing.

It came with a CD he'd made;
I knew a lot of the songs.

I shouldn't tell him
how I lifted the thin blue pages
to my nose,
closed my eyes,
and thought hard about
our last hug.

How lucky I am to have a friend
who understands the comfort
of familiar handwriting,
no matter what it says.