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Show Moon -132 shadow. I need to see straight on. I don't want to invent what I see. I want to see like a child. I want to see for the first time. The night before I leave, Josh comes home at dusk where I'm waiting for him on the porch swing. He's carrying a great bouquet of wild iris, lays it on my lap. Then he kneels at my feet and presses his head into the purple flowers. "Come back," he says. "Please." I stroke his hair and murmur to him as if he's a child. I suddenly love him as if he were my brother, and this is a great tide of feeling out of which I can say to him, "I love you with all my heart." I've made us a nice dinner of homemade pasta and vegetables from the garden, but we realize we aren't hungry. Josh leads me to our bed. Standing tall beside me with his naked strong arms, he becomes a man once again in my eyes, and I go at him as if this were my last night on earth. We make wild sobbing love, washed in the light of a swollen moon. OH DAD, POOR DAD New York City is a certain kind of lover. Sweeps you up from the underground on escalators like tongues, up into the teeth of marble columns and black glass and people so gorgeous, so electric you'd forgotten and you gasp. Promises everything, tells you Here It All Is, then shoulders you aside just as soon as you ask it for something: a place to pee, somewhere to sit a while, dark streets without fear. You are caught where the current runs strongest, the place |