“The store looked closed for years. I lost my way there once In a Sunday kind of quiet, Sunday kind of afternoon light On a street of red-brick tenements. How do you like that? I said to no one. How do you like that? I said it again today upon waking. That street went on forever And all along I could feel the pins In my back, prickling The dark and heavy cloth. St. Thomas Aquinas I left parts of myself everywhere The way absent-minded people leave Gloves and umbrellas Whose colors are sad from dispensing so much bad luck. I was on a park bench asleep. It was like the Art of Ancient Egypt. I didn’t wish to bestir myself. I made my long shadow take the evening train. “We give death to a child when we give it a doll,” Said the woman who had read Djuna Barnes. We whispered all night. She had traveled to darkest Africa. She had many stories to tell about the jungle. I was already in New York looking for work. It was raining as in the days of Noah. I stood in many doorways of tha...t great city.MoreLessShow More Show Less
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