by David S. Wallace
A new collection of Brainard’s letters, “Love, Joe,” edited by the scholar Daniel Kane, offers glimpses of this constant play and productivity.
I remember cinnamon toothpicks.
I remember cherry Cokes.
I remember pastel-colored rocks that grew in water.
I remember drive-in onion rings.
I remember that the minister’s son was wild.
I remember pearlized plastic toilet seats.
I remember a little boy whose father didn’t believe in dancing and mixed swimming.
I remember when I told Kenward Elmslie that I could play tennis. He was looking for someone to play with and I wanted to get to know him better. I couldn’t even hit the ball but I did get to know him better.