Without a Word

I woke  in your skin,
unclenched your hands,
hands that hold up bikes
and paintbrushes.

I squinted through
your rambling eyes
at the blue ceiling
(to me, always, it was grey.)

Through your clouded vision  
morning shadows moved rapidly
across the bed and into the kitchen
where tea kettles danced

Words slept on images,
 raced passed moment’s stillness,
between space and time, invisible
but for  your damaged eyes.

10/21/08

Uptown at the Met

Nadar’s nude covered her face
A Nazi collaborator hidden
in a man’s suit and slick hair
draped her arm around her lover
they laughed into Brassai’s eyes
Alexander Dumas looked away

A giggling French trio
Skips past the photographs
Speaking charmingly in English
Flitting from room to room
like chattering butterflies
Busloads of matrons line up
for lunch and bathrooms
Man Ray slams himself
against museum walls

I am the crazy lady
photographing herself
in the rooftop garden
Ghosts of John Lennon and
Rosemary’s Baby as backdrops

Escaping from the museum
I search for the Daily News
Wander through the park
Sit on an isolated bench
There is a plaque:

Bonjour!
Have A Fine Day
Pierre, Jacki and Lizi

Yeah you too
I mutter, drinking my coffee
A crazy lady talking to herself
French triplets roller blade on by

8/24/08