The Pick-up, 8th Avenue, 4p.m.
“Excuse me. Miss, where’d you get your shoes?,” a lady exiting a salon asks me as I walk by. “Oh, a friend gave them to me.” “They’re very nice.” “Thanks. They’re Via Spiga,” I reply. I consider telling her she could probably find them at Bloomingdales. “That’s why,” she says, walking behind me. “They...
Sept. 19, 2012 “When you go in there, tell them you want it like this. Just like this,” he says, pointing to his wrist. I nod and walk in to the Coffee Mill. “Fabrizio wants his coffee the color of his skin. Just like this,” I tell the cashier, bending my arm and pointing to the crease at my elbow. Right about there is where my skin meets his: cafe con leche. The...
Bringing Him Home
Sunday, Sept. 16, 2012 It’s 10:46 a.m. as the man in a wheelchair crosses the street, followed by a man in a fleece top and khaki shorts who walks along with his dog. He reaches the crosswalk and is startled by another man who grabs his shoulder in joyous recognition. They all pause for a moment on Rhode Island Avenue and then he and his loyal dog cross the street. I lose sight of them. ...
Stealing Sugar from the Castle
-Robert Bly (1926-) We are poor students who stay after school to study joy. We are like those birds in the India mountains. I am a widow whose child is her only joy. The only thing I hold in my ant-like head Is the builder’s plan of the castle of sugar. Just to steal one grain of sugar is a joy! Like a bird, we fly out of darkness into the hall, Which is lit with singing, then fly out...