friend

     

.

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond 
 

and you were to come by 
one evening
when the moon was shining 
down into my dark home 

and stand there at the edge 
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful 
here by this pond. I wish 
somebody loved me,"

I'd love you and be your catfish 
friend and drive such lonely 
thoughts from your mind 
and suddenly you would be
at peace,

and ask yourself, "I wonder 
if there are any catfish 
in this pond? It seems like 
a perfect place for them."

—Richard Brautigan

.

that is your name

  

.

I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.

If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago:  Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was raining very hard.

That is my name.

Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong—“Sorry for the mistake,”—and you had to do something else.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was a game you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window.

That is my name.

Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.

That is my name.

Perhaps you stared into a river. There was something near you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened.

That is my name.

—Richard Brautigan

Watermelon Sugar 

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