When I met her, she was barefoot. She had spilled out of a beat-up Trans Am, hair a mess, feet on hot pavement—a Pall Mall between her lips.
The cigarette was part of her. A spirit ghost. As was her smile.
She wouldn’t stay long, but long enough to leave a space, a perspective, an invitation.
Years later. Time and life.
Red and blue lights flash through the window, through the air, through the night.
Leaving a different space, a different perspective, and another invitation.
We should have said more to each other.
Careless Whisper
The street blooms green and buzzes with the morning. I don’t remember noticing the green. The blue jays and pigeons, seers from the ledges. Witnesses to our assembly. I’ll bet they noticed the green.
I laughed at loneliness. It let me.
He stopped to ask me if I knew where the fountain of youth was.
His smile hit deep. Pure. His eyes sparkled with ease.
A soul at peace, navigating the city on a tattered bicycle, in tattered clothes.
I smiled, said if he finds it, I’d love to know. We laughed together.
All the while, I hadn’t stopped walking until I was almost to the corner.
Then it hit me. I turned around to go back, but he was already pedaling and off on his search.
I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to give him more time.
Bleed, weep blue. Let it pool around you, thick. For what has a soul gained if a life has not bled.
I didn’t want you to leave me. I didn’t want to leave you.
You were so familiar. I still feel your fingers against mine—your smile, my fear.
You traveled to see me. I didn’t know what to do. So I kept avoiding you. Dodging meaning through distraction.
First I was swept away by the sea, then by people—shaped by the hands of Modigliani, long faces, elegant sadness pretending to be joy.
Color. Gardens. Paintings. Sculpture. I felt none of it.
I turned to change my mind. To tell you how glad I was you were there.
You looked at me and said, “I don’t like these people. They’re not why I came.”
You closed the door.
And I knew. I’d lost.
Sirens coo. Griefs ache.
The pigeon stands on its edge.
Taunts me with indifference.
Shore. Big Island. Black Coral. White Sand. Deep Aqua Sea.
I put my camera down on a low rock. It slipped into the sand lens first. I just left it—placed my wallet on top and covered it with my sweatshirt.
I dove into the shallows. Eyes open. I watched the black coral and its life beneath me—felt free.
Came up for air.
Decided to walk along the shore. Left my camera and wallet behind.
Came across a cottage. Door open.
A little girl caught my eye.
At second glance, I saw that she had a gun. My heart dropped.
Her father looked right at me. “Don’t worry. She’ll eventually put it down,” he said, and walked into another room.
I went in after her.
She was standing there all of eight years old with a gun to her head.
I knelt in front of her, pleading to hand it to me. Or to at least point it at the floor.
She was shaking. Staring deep into me.
The space between us felt like eternity.
I tried to will it out of her hand with my eyes. It didn’t work.
I gently reached for her—so gently.
She insisted I stop by shaking the gun.
I lost my breath. “Please, please, give me the gun. It’s going to be okay.”
We both knew it wasn’t okay. Though she surrendered the gun anyway.
My breath came back in one deep gasp and exhale.
I asked if she wanted a hug. She wrapped her arms around me and just cried.
“I know how hard it is out there,” I said.
I held her—cried with her, knowing the eventual sacrifice of innocence life commands. The pain that will come, the disappointment, the moments of love.
Knowing that the little girl was me.
When I met him, he was already blind. The vultures, already feeding.
We drank a couple of beers watching the ocean from a home he built by hand on the island.
He knew the sky, the trees, the people. His eyes didn’t have to work to see.
He missed Maya—the love of his life. She passed eight years earlier. Her linens had molded.
He didn’t know because he couldn’t see them but he spoke of them as new. Where and when they bought them together.
I think of him as I reach for my courage.
As a young man, he crafted a boat and fearlessly sailed it across an ocean—alone—to find an island he called home forever.
There was no navigation. Only the stars and the intimidating will of life.
I heard of his passing recently knowing the vultures claimed their win.
I slept on his sofa that night. The mosquitos having their way with me.
I laughed for the first time in a while. Jumped in the pool fully clothed. Watched the sunset.
Felt his pain—his life—and mine.
What Happened
NYC Vibe 1