Dear Sarah:

I guess we were pals of a sort;
until we both stopped going
up to Goddard. But you came to me
in the cafeteria and said,
“I’m going to make your life a living hell.”
And you tortured my novel
until I bled. I learned to put that blood
on the page. You said, “If it doesn’t hurt,
you aren’t doing it right.”
                                                         I heard the same
from my editor at The S&M News,
but that was in a different context.
You were tough but not sadistic,
and still a treasured mentor.

Until 2003, David M. Harris had never lived more than fifty miles from New York City. Since then he has moved to Tennessee, acquired a daughter and a classic MG, and gotten serious about poetry. All these projects seem to be working out pretty well. His work has appeared in Pirene’s Fountain (and in First Water, the Best of Pirene’s Fountain anthology), Gargoyle, The Labletter, The Pedestal, and other places. His first collection of poetry, The Review Mirror, was published by Unsolicited Press in 2013.