Archive | City Matters

Love and Light, Love and Night

I can’t decide if I’m up early or late but it is 4:15 am and the moon is singing too loud a siren song for me to sleep. This is the view from my kitchen window–poetry and manmade nature, the ultimate New York story if you add in childhood rage. I’m reading Lidia Yuknavitch’s The Chronology Of Water, which may have something to do with all this awakery. I don’t even like the memoir but I love it. It summons my latent misogyny–everyone harbors latent misogyny; resentment of the womb’s great power comes hand in hand with the trauma of being ejected from it–and it rouses my literary and erotic ambitions. I can’t resist a book that feels like it’s been (meta)blogged by the thirstiest of pussies, even as I roll my eyes and clear my throat and rearrange my crotch. So here I sit, parked by my window, reading and watching and sniffing the still-sweet air, thinking of sex, thinking of jealousy, thinking of how to mount this whole freaking city. I light a candle honoring the Santería spirit Changó–he’s very much on my brain, no coincidence there–and pray that this thunder and lightening god will help me channel my own big weather when the sun rises again.

That Stranger Called My Life

I just saw an old lover on the street. He didn’t see me or at least he pretended he didn’t, but I got a good eyeful. We were together off and on for many years and I hadn’t seen him in two. Recently he had a big birthday, so he’s been on my mind though our connection is too dangerous to reignite with a polite phone call or card. We live in the same neighborhood so it’s a wonder we don’t run into each other more often. I often think the Universe is protecting us by ensuring we don’t. We caused each other a lot of pain–more than the great pleasure we gave each other, even.

He was talking to someone–a friend, it looked like, though not a close one. Maybe a colleague. I watched him clap his big hand on that man’s shoulder, then make his way down the street in the opposite direction from me. My old lover seemed smaller and bigger, blurrier and more filled in. It was a shock to see him alive at all–still human, not just an animation of my many memories. Continue Reading →

NYC, My Heart: East River Ferry Edition

This is Rosa and Vera. Both are Jews who fled Nazi Germany, emigrated to Argentina, and eventually made their way to New York City, where they have rent-controlled apartments, speak four languages, and take long walks every day. I met these longtime friends while waiting for the East River Ferry at 34th street. All three of us were fretting because the ferry were delayed, and bonded when they found out I was a card-carrying feminist who hated Trump as much as they did. “How do people not see this is what happened to us in Germany?” Vera wailed. I felt ashamed that they should survive so much only to witness later generations forgetting everything. “Past is present,” said Rosa, clasping my wrist. Then she complimented my Audrey Hepburn glasses. “With this style, you’ll find a new job soon.” “What are you doing in Brooklyn today?” I asked, admiring her pretty necklace in turn. “Well, we thought we’d sit by the Promenade and then stroll down to Sahadi’s,” she said. “Just because the world treats 80-year-old women like they’re invisible doesn’t mean we don’t like to do things.” Meeting these two birds is why I’ll never leave New York.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy