Love writes letters. Love has excellent penmanship. Love is in federal prison.
Love is the homeless guy who found our phone on the street not too long ago and returned it to us. We’ve been looking for him when the bus rolls by the convenience store where we met, but he hasn’t been there. Now we know why.
We’ve got a P.O. box, so no mail ever comes to us at our house. But a letter arrived in the post the other day. Our housemate delivered it in the kitchen as we stood at the stove and made Hobo Crack Tea. We looked at the return address.
“What’s CSP – S.Q.’?” we asked her.
“Baby,” she said. “That’s San Quentin.”
Who the hell? We know our share of ex-petty ex-criminals … but none of them are in prison right now. Are they?
It was Love. Love is in San Quentin.
Love remembered our address from when we told it to him when he said he’d deliver our phone after finding it. We thought better of this plan and met him at the convenience store. And now he knows our address. Scary, a little. But we’ve never had a pen pal, and as a friend said about all this: Maybe it’s another piece in some weird puzzle.
Hopefully he won’t mind if we reprint some of it here. He is a writer, after all.
Should we go see him? We’ve never visited someone in prison before.
San Quentin? Yeesh.
July 2, 2007
Summer … (indeed you are…),
As you continue to live the magic of life, I hope each separate contentment will make your dreams come true. I pray my letter reaches you at a period where all is well with life … and you have not lost your phone again. :)
I was happy to be a part of something right and well in the quest to return your phone. Every outcome of troubles ahead may not be as rewarding, but always give your best … and learn your lessons well.
Before I continue, I hope and pray you don’t mind my writing to you from dire straights [sic], but remember most of all this unfortunate circumstance does not define who I am, what I believe, or what I will continue to achieve with life.
Just as a matter of information I like to write letters, as well as short stories and poems relative to my life experience. Currently I have 14 writings published in the book called Only the Dead Can Kill. The title is expressive of how we as human beings let or allow past negative happenings rule and/or dictate our lives, and we don’t have to. The book is currently available at Barnes and Noble, as well as on the internet (I don’t know the web-site). The auther [sic] who compiled and collected all the writings from many different poets and artists is Margo Perin (who also has another book published, on a national level, about mother-daughter relationships titled “How I Learned to Cook.”)
Please know I am accountable for my actions and I believe in paying my dues. Even though I won’t be here for a long period of time, I’d appreciate hearing from you until “I’ll see you in the ‘hood.” If you don’t have time I’ll respectfully understand. Until then, I’ve reached that area of life where I’m tired of living the collision of self-destruction and I am more than ready to commit not just to making new decisions, but rather I have decided to adhere to the truth of realistic commitment to a more rewarding life.
In the meantime, between time … please take care of yourself. Keep track of your phone and don’t make your mother worry. :)
In music time,
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