16.7.14


it must be nice/to die at night/all alone
but will i still see stars/fly to venus





if you can find it, i cannot stop listening to "must be nice" by the scientists.



1.7.14

june swoon







I had a tired intuition this morning. I walked to work, wistful– thinking of nameless people I know. People who have drifted away, for one reason or another. People I think of often enough, without daring to break the silence. People that may no longer exist as I knew them, or at all. I stood in line for a coffee, hair softened by sun, feeling prim in my new feedsack dress as I handed over my small fortune. I rounded the corner and watched a man drink a small energy capsule, his daily task. Old women walked with renewed vigor on new legs, the day was that early. The brief world that is New York in the morning. The blue light, the clean feeling, the full bloom of summer. Does it dismantle when I learn of the shooting which took place this morning, blocks away from my office at a diner on 14th street?








A song for you.






17.6.14

the sunday we met lucía




there was a recent sunday, i wore a favorite dress: rosebuds, jadeite buttons, 1930s white cotton. we walked through prospect park– a bottle of rosé swinging at my wrist, a recycled greek yogurt container full of watermelon speckled with my kitchen windowsill mint, strawberries. eventually we found s. & s., baby lucia. a red and white picnic tablecloth, yellow knit baby slippers, the sun seeping through lucia's sunhat as she napped. after we parted, t. and i found a spot in the summer grove. long strings held kites, children joined frisbee games, we mused how we should have brought the baseball and mitts my parents gave us last christmas. the sky was the color of my father's eyes in summer, pale blue with a grey cloud pierced with light.