To The O’Hara Sisters (first letter)

Dear Mary and Catherine,
I need to move but these pictures won’t let me.

My body’s in trouble.

Who am I writing to?

Do those stares meet mine?

Are we sharing an impossible truce?

Is one of us not in exile (at any time and place)?

terrified again

of not loving

of loving and not you

of being loved and not by you

of knowing not knowing pretending


There’s no nostalgia in this letter.

Nothing’s fleeting here.

Each of us is forever (unrepresentable).

We’re like songs or skits.

I want to feel what these pictures deny me.

When my body’s in trouble, in trouble, in trouble, who?

Who do I write to?

Are both of you static as I shiver involuntarily?
Do your thoughts have to end before I start to think?
Is everyone always unknowingly together?
I and all the others that will love you

if they love you

unless they love you
Who am I writing to?