fifteen: ‘bad poems are all the same for the same reason: imprecision.’


I cannot accurately pinpoint exactly why I love this piece by Sarah Manguso. Perhaps it’s the words she uses, the plea her narrator is so effectively proposing or maybe it’s just the title: Address to Winnie in Paris.

I am not one for love letters that consist of just words. I find them hokey and without true affection, but I do love this one.

Winnie, I am writing this on behalf of my friend Harris. He loves you and wants you to love him. I have never been to Paris, but I have heard that it is a good place to be in love in.The Arc de Triomphe is real. The Jardin des Tuileries is real. The Eiffel Tower is very real. The carafe of wine, the remains of dinner, the bill: all real. None are necessary to your life. – Sarah Manguso


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