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 Nevermore,
Dearest
by
Paul Fahey
January
13, 1849
Philadelphia
Dear
Edgar,
It
is over between us.
No doubt you will take to drink when you read this,
but I cannot be
responsible.
I want you to
understand how appalled I was to read my name
in print. How could
you? I, who
accepted your darker side, the funeral
bells tolling, that damn buzzard peering down at us while we made love. How dare you discuss our
affair, mention my
name in every stanza? What
possessed
you, dearest?
Only
yesterday I was in the kitchen with Flossy.
Remember her?
She acted as go-between when my Herbert had gout. We were careful then,
afraid others would
discover our midnight
rendezvous in
the cemetery behind St. Bridget's.
My
God, Edgar, if you must, write about that cold slab up
against your bare backside, just leave me out of it.
But
I digress. I was
watching Flossy sift flour, cream butter, add sugar, cinnamon and three
whole
eggs. Boston Crème, your favorite. But I shall stuff myself till I
burst before
I share one crumb with you. I
never want
to see or hear from you again. If
you
pass me on the High Street, please keep walking.
I hope this letter sends you to the depths
of depression.
That
is my prayer.
May my words haunt you forever.
No
longer your,
Annabel
Lee
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