4/2/2010
Dear
Shipwreck,
Even
though you’re over a century old, they say that everything inside you is still
intact. Even the crew? Must be lonely. I’ll write again.
4/6/2010
Dear
Shipwreck,
So
what’s it feel like to have everything inside you still “intact”? That’s what I
want to feel like. But I’ve actually never felt my “insides” at all—I think
they’re positioned in a way that keeps them from banging around. When I was
small, I would jump up and down for hours trying to make them rattle. Nothing.
I am an empty rattle.
PS.
Please write back.
4/24/2010
Dear
Shipwreck,
So
I was talking to my priest the other day. He’s worried that I’m having some
kind of existential crisis. Meaning: I’m trying to rationalize God by replacing
the ephemeral with a tangible object. Or: I’ve replaced one object that’s been
hidden from view with another object that’s hidden from view. Or: Every time I
speak to you, I’m talking directly to God.
If
this is the case: Lord, I noticed you haven’t written back yet.
5/9/2010
Dear
Shipwreck / Metaphor for God,
I
was thinking of Basho today, and I wrote you this poem:
O,
Shipwreck, untouched by moonlight,
molested by billions
of writhing quagga mussels.
molested by billions
of writhing quagga mussels.
Is
“moonlight” too heavy-handed? Not believable enough? Let me know what you
think…
6/24/2010
Dear The
L.R. Doty,
Sorry
I got your name wrong, initially. Apparently, in life, you were known as The
L.R. Doty. What an odd name for a boat! (No offense, I’m just sayin’). Did
you know there’s a poet named “Mark Doty”? Wait—are you two related? Damn. If
so, I’m embarrassed to have sent you my little poem. (Is this why you haven’t
written me back?)
6/29/2010
Dear
Mister-Too-Good-To-Write-Anyone-Back,
Fuck
you, man. I don’t care if you didn’t like that poem. That’s no excuse for
ignoring my letters. I will say this real slowly for you:
Write.
Me. Back. You. Dick.
6/30/2010
Dear L.R.
Doty,
It’s
me again. Sorry about that last letter. I’m just frustrated about some things.
I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me. No harm, no foul? Right?
7/2/2010
Dear
__________,
Listen.
What I was trying to say is this:
When
I was a kid, my dad took me to a beach on your lake. I know what it’s like to
sink, to be angry because no one on Earth knows if you exist.
There
had been a storm the night before, and the ripped-up pieces of crayfish covered
everything. Then, I thought that scene was horrific. Now, I wonder if that was
you.
"For a recently discovered shipwreck at the bottom of lake Michigan". Matthew Olzmann.