Ricky Garni


Dear Rose,

I was reading an interview with Edward Gorey and he was talking about the source for an illustration he did on a book and he was asked: “Was this one of your paintings?” and he said it was not but he said it this way: “It was not, I assure you.” 

I thought about how nobody says “I assure you” anymore, even though we still assure each other every day. When I think of “I assure you” I think of someone like James Mason saying it, not anybody I know. These days I am not sure what we say instead. But we still assure each other.

It’s easy to think of things people don’t say anymore, things that now seem lofty or weird or baffling. “23 Skidoo” for example. But I assure you just quietly opened the door and left the world of words very quietly and without a peep. Poof!

I thought about you had said about your father and how you mentioned his love for the word “azure.” I thought of it because when I said “I assure you” out loud, it sounded very much like “I azure you.” Azure is good. It’s color and space and blue and moving from here to there.

So I am going to try to tell the people I love I azure them as often as I can. I azure you, I azure you – even if you don’t azure me, I will always azure you. You are a pretty blue, a sky blue, a sky blue in space on earth that I love to talk to – I am glad you are here, my goodness, yes.


Ricky Garni grew up in Miami and Maine. He works as a graphic designer by day and writes music by night. COO, a tiny collection of short prose printed on college lined paper with found materials such as coins, stamps and baseball cards, was recently released by Bitterzoet Press.‎

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