I DUMPED BARYSHNIKOV
Not that alone - we dumped the
ground-glass into the Hudson River.
I was dreaming of Indians and canoes
and the old river when it had some
sense. Not just the way it is now.
Suburban GlimmerGlass Opera.
-
Hattie Moravia insisted she'd stop
by, and brought a few odd pastries
she'd bought at some foreign shop.
Without coffee they were useless,
so we heaved back to the Avenue
and took care of that. Simple brews.
-
Started talking about clothes. 1990
style, maybe. The newspaper stand
had the Sunday Times out on Saturday
night. I used to love that, and all the
early-line dowagers getting their
'papers' one night before the morning.
-
When I said that, they both laughed
and said I was funny. I said 'Maybe,
but you should see me when I'm
really on.' They laughed again.
-
Hattie began talking about children.
I said 'Not important to me; can't
abide all that stuff.' Mikhael said
he was thinking of Lincoln Center
as I spoke, and all those local kids
that place dispersed when it was
built. I said, 'Yeah, I had a friend
who lost her home.' Hattie just
then began crying, alone.
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