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Jessica Young | Word Riot
Poetry | May 15, 2011

Dear Fred: A Letter by Jessica Young

They tell me it is not entirely unlike the intensity of breaking              crème brulee—a quarter-second of guilt, desire, both

because the cauterized top will bend to you, and because you              destroy something whole. And I think: they have not

visited your grave, if they use dessert as a way to grasp what               you did. If they had felt with their knees the living

grass, they’d know it is not entirely unlike anything, would be               lost in the words, as we’re meant to be, in this language

we created. This labyrinth we escape into when words to ask               for