THE GLIDER
now gone, a life lived at Nora
Outside the kitchen door we sit on the glider. Early morning coffee in hand. The first sunlight warms the herb garden with inspiration. The produce arrives and signals the start of work. Whites on, wander into the walk-in, take inventory. We drink more coffee and compromise the menu into being. Prep lists. The butcher arrives, the saute, the grill, salad, pastry chef, service staff. Kitchen humming, clock ticking, deadline approaching. Like a dance service begins. Orders are called, meats grilled. Plates expedited out after just the right amount of curation. The choreography is complicated but is given the finesse of route and practice. You partner, then part and partner again all night. Stepping like an elegant square dance through the weeds and back again. Compliments come and the night ends in success. Drinks with staff. Beer, bourbon, and another beer before the next bar. Sleep, sex, shower. In the morning the glider is waiting again to greet you with the heady aroma of Holy basil. More coffee. Menu, prep, service, Bourbon, repeat.
1974
I found the veil in the dumpster behind my dad’s art studio; brand new and still in the box. Like a little boy in his Superman’s cape, I wore it everywhere. It was crisp and white with a pearl headband to keep it in place. A veil it seems really goes with any outfit, flowered sundress and purple clogs for day, red keds and jeans for play, or curled up for a nap with the cat. I don’t know when I stopped wearing it but I don’t think I have ever stopped playing make believe.
I got married when I was six and I’ve been married ever since, but I’ve never had a husband. Like a little girl, playing house, I wake up every morning ready to iron his work shirt and pack his lunch. He doesn’t even exist, my imaginary husband. I make the bed and fluff the pillows. I always cook dinner for two. I don’t have a husband. I don’t have a family.
I am still a child.
4AD lost in DC
I spent a lot of time walking and revisiting old ghosts.
Reflections in shop windows
Revealing lost moments of laughter and tears.
The summer rain fell with melancholy.
I found this old portrait,
A sleeping beauty in storage.
My image within the image
We stand between our past, present,
And the future untold still ahead to walk.
