Some postcards from America

On my desk, I have five postcards taped up on a small space of the wall in front of me. One is a painting by Mark Rothko (the yellow and red-orange one, with a fat black line in between), and another is Andy Warhol’s “Sixteen Jackies” (the subject being, of course, Jackie Kennedy). They were postcards from a ten-piece set that I bought at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis—and as if I never thought I’d find myself in the Midwest for any other reason than maybe Chicago, my aunt married a man who lived there most of his life. My family and I visited for only about a day and a half, but we got to do a lot, even hiked on a trail that we didn’t know was a long hiking trail in the beginning. Another postcard is a photograph of Mount Fuji, snow-capped, foregrounded by cherry blossom trees, soft spring pink, in full bloom. Next to that is an ukiyoe print—the famous “The Great Wave off Kanagawa.” I like Japan a lot. I love travelling there and I’ll never seem to get enough of it—I still plan to go back and see the red fall foliage (“koyo”) in Kyoto. One other aunt gave me the last postcard currently on my wall: a painting of the City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco the poet Lawrence Ferlenghetti founded, at the corner of Columbus Avenue and Broadway. She gave it to me on the last day of our trip where she wrote on the back, “Carissa, this is as close as you’ll get.”


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