-oily - like an egg yolk, but crimson, hemorrhaging in the womb
-tree-trunk legs
-my long skirts flip-flapping out in front of me as the subway wind spits at me
-the sudden sense of loss when the train moves from rooftop gardens, back underground
-like the week I spent thinking my co-workers were gossiping about me in my presence, not knowing that Park Mi-Ran is the given name of my main co-teacher, who is always called Nicole around me. Slurred "r," silent "k," soft "n." "Pah-mee-rah(n)" - sounds a bit like Pamela, ne?
Being stared at constantly is already blasé. Indifference, where were you when I needed you in London?
1 comment:
I FUCKING MISS YOU. Here is a Frank O'Hara poem that feels right.
ANIMALS
Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days
Heartz.
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