Christmas Night

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed, one of my copies of A Christmas Carol open in her lap. She's holding a mug of peppermint tea, and her lips move slightly as she reads. The Christmas lights are reflected in her tortoise shell glasses, and a red velvet ribbon holds her long brown hair in a pony tail. She's wearing red flannel pajamas with feet that should look ridiculous, but on her they're adorable.

Our Christmas dinner was spinach pie and falafel with harira soup, and a fresh imported panettone for dessert. We actually ate at the table tonight, instead of sitting on the bed with trays. I cleaned the table off when I put up the Christmas decorations, Emily laughed that it was possibly the first time she'd seen the table top. Casey sat at her feet all through dinner, waiting to lick the soup bowls. He really likes harira a lot.

After dinner we snuggled under my striped quilt and watched The Polar Express. I love the way she squeezes my hand when she gets excited. During the race toward Flattop Tunnel she threw her arms around my neck and just about jumped into my lap while yelling at the boy on the screen to "Get down! Get down!" When she caught herself she turned beet red, covered her face with the quilt to stifle her laughing, then looked up at me sheepishly and said, "God Jim, I'm such a dork! How can you possibly love me?" Em, it's the easiest thing I've done in longer than I can remember....

In a little while we'll take Casey for his last walk of the evening, then we'll fall asleep together under the quilt, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand resting on my heart. It's been a wonderful Christmas.

Last Saturday Night At United Palace

Slow dancing with you on the wildflower carpet while the lightning blazed and the thunder shook the balcony over our heads, turning graceful and slow down the violet hillside into the noise and the sweat, I'll never forget that. The way you danced on tiptoes, arms around my neck, looking up at me with that faerie smile shining through your black lipstick, spinning so light and so free.
And the spotlight glowed on your black satin dress as we danced all alone with the crowd all around us, I was lost in the elf light, lost in the blood tide. And nothing mattered but the warmth of your breath, the black rose tattoo that you had on your cheek. And the only thing I heard over the music were the words that you whispered when you pulled me so close.
When you said, "This is here, this now, this is all. This is all I could wish for, this is all I could need. How did you know how to make me so happy? How do I deserve this? I must be a good girl!" I whispered back, "It's me who's the lucky one. It's me who'll thank God tonight when you've gone to sleep."
And later on, when the night had gone quiet, when the curtain had fallen and the crowd had gone home, I held your hand through the snow showers, walking on air a few inches over Broadway. And it sucked when I had to leave you at Penn Station, put you on the last train to take you away.
And I lay in my bed, replaying the night, reliving the music, reliving your touch. Soon enough darlin', see you real soon.

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past

Thanksgiving weekend is drifting by in silence like a ghost ship while the sky turns toward winter and Casey sleeps the way only an old dog can sleep. Scelsa is on the radio and the only light in this room is from the art nouveau lamp that Jane gave me for my birthday a million years ago. It's quiet enough that I can hear the stream of time rolling by outside, it sounds like the hiss of cool water on hot dry sand. And I'm thinking back on other times I passed this way, other years and other Novembers....

Like,

1968 in an old house in San Francisco, sitting with our feet up on the porch railing and holding her hand while we passed the bourbon back and forth.

1970 in an old house on a bluff over Seneca Lake, watching the grey clouds kiss the tops of the grey pine trees,while Rachelle slept with her head on my shoulder.

1973 in an old house on the far end of Jane Street near the Hudson River with a red haired girl who was always better than she thought she was.

1974 in the last house by the end of the LaGuardia Airport runway, watching the sunset from the front steps with a brown eyed girl while her six year old daughter played jacks on the sidewalk.

1975 in the Buffalo Road House on Seventh Avenue, with an L.A. girl who was so much farther out of her element than she knew.

1979 watching the parade on tv with a dancer who couldn't believe I bought her a dozen red roses in the middle of winter.

1983 sitting on the roof watching the sunset over the skyline and sharing a bottle with a bitter young artist who had more talent than she knew.

1991 bringing Chinese food to my wife in the hospital after and asthma attack. She never would eat hospital food.

1999 at my aunt's house, the last time she knew who any of us were, before the Alzheimers.

2o02 the last time I saw my sister alive, before she drank herself to death.

And so on. I like it when Thanksgiving's quiet.

Bobthecat

I put Bobthecat to sleep on Wednesday. He'd been slipping for a couple of weeks, so I knew what was coming, but I was still trying hard not to see what was in front of me. Then on Sunday night he came and said his goodbyes to me.

Bob was never hyperaffectionate. He would love to lie next to you and get petted, but he never was one for being picked up or for sitting in a lap. But on Sunday night when I sat down at the computer he stood up from the corner by the air conditioner where he'd been spending most of his time and hopped over to the desk. He rubbed my hand with his face, marking me as his. I skritched him and petted him and he purred and rolled around like a kitten for about fifteen minutes, then he suddenly stood up and went back to his corner and curled up. It was the last time we played together; I'm pretty sure it was his way of saying goodbye.

When I woke up Monday morning he'd retreated to the space behind my desk, curled up under the shopping cart in the corner. I pulled him out and set him next to his breakfast, but he only ate a few bites and went back to sleep.

That was the way of things for the next few days. On Wednesday morning when I picked him up for breakfast he let out a pitiful cry. He wouldn't even look at his food, he just wanted to go back to his corner and be left alone.Bob has lived with me for almost eighteen years and I know his moods as well as I know my own.  I looked in his eyes and I could see he was begging me, "Please Daddy, I'm so tired. Can't I rest now?" Of course you can, Bob. I'm sorry it took me so long to get what you were asking....

I called Jane and asked to borrow her carrier. When she brought it down she took one look at me and offered to go with us. I'll never be able to thank her enough for that. Last year when Missy died it happened late on a Saturday night and the trip home from the hospital was the longest and loneliest I'd ever made.

We walked down to Vinegar Hill together, Bob in the carrier between us, talking about anything but what was going to happen. The day was late summer perfect, the sky achingly blue and clear, the sun so warm. I was glad Bob's last day on earth was such a beautiful one.

In the office Bob lay on a towel on the table in a cool, clean room after the doctor had examined him and explained our options and left us to discuss what we thought was best. Jane stroked his head and I put my hand on his shoulder while we talked, but there was really only one thing to do. Bob had had a great life, and it was time for me to perform one last kindness for him, the last one that's always the hardest one to do. I said to Jane that I knew it was the right thing, because doing it sucked. But I owed it to him, it was the last part of the promise I'd made to him, and to Missy and to Casey, when each one came to live with me. I promised them all that I'd do the best I could for them, give each of them the best life I knew how, and when the time came I'd do what I could to make the end of that life as easy as the end can be.

So Jane petted Bob's head and told him what a beautiful cat he was, and I held onto his shoulder and told him I loved him, while Dr. Neuman gave him first the valium shot that put him into a deep sleep, then the injection that stopped his heart and his breathing. He breathed out one last time and slipped out of his old tired pained body like the first soft breeze on a spring morning, into a better day.

I closed his eyes, and folded the towel over him even though he was no longer there, and that body on the table was just a beautifully still and silent reflection of the life it once held in it. Bobthecat, my gentle, playful, silly, loving chow hound of a cat, had already left the building. But even so, I patted his shoulder and whispered, "I'll see you later."

Jane and I walked back along Front Street holding hands, squinting in the bright afternoon sun, the empty carrier hanging weightless on my shoulder. The warmth of her hand in mine reminded me of life all around us, life still restless and always full of light and sound and feeling. When we got home Casey told us he wanted to go for his walk, now, and life had taken over again.

But later that evening I sat out on the front steps watching the stars and the clouds and enjoying the cool breeze, and I felt Bob's soul out there. He was dancing in the clouds,running and playing fast and easy, with no pain at all. He just wanted to let me know how good he was feeling. Then he was gone, and the night was just the night. And life was waiting, for me, for Casey, for Jane.

Just Another Tuesday

I saw a girl on the street today wearing a t shirt that said, "Friends Don't Let Friends Date Girls Like Me!" She caught me reading her shirt and laughed and told me, "Be forewarned!" So of course I said, "Hey, let's get something cold to drink and watch the sunset from the Promenade."

Later on that very same evening we were sitting on a bench by the railing, watching the sun climb down its ladder of clouds and steam, watching the shadows grow longer. I took a sip from my bottle of seltzer, she did the same from her bottle of absinthe. We looked at each other and said, "Yeah, good idea!" and mixed the two bottles together in one of our glasses, then shared it. Fizzy water mixed with the Green Goddess.

Finally the sun touched the horizon, just north of the Bayonne Bridge. You could actually feel a tiny drop in the heat. The breeze picked up the tiniest bit and we turned our faces gratefully to the west.

In a few minutes the stars came out, cool dry air on tired lips and cheeks.

Even The River Loves Emily

Some day soon I'll meet her at the bridge and we'll walk toward the city together, toward the skyline backlit by the setting sun. The wind will rise as we climb higher, I can't wait to watch it blow her hair.

And I'll hold her hand as we cross the creaking boards and the sunset glints off her glasses and lights her eyes with flecks of gold. And she'll dazzle me with that goofy smile of hers and hold my hand tighter when the bridge and the city fall away below us, when we climb that staircase made of air and wishes.

And all that I'll leave behind will mean nothing, it will all be someone else's problem then. And our real life will be all ahead of us, across the water and the sky.

After The Fireworks

Smoke covered the river til the water disappeared and it was a river of smoke, with grey tides running down to the harbor where all the water was gone and smoky waves rolled in grey silence. Smoke rose around the granite towers of the bridge leaving ghostly splashes on the stones. Up above the sky was rain and steam and startled purple clouds.

And we stood on the narrow path where they met, on wet cobblestones with our hands on the wet iron railing, water falling from above and smoke rising from below. And when we kissed I tasted the water and the smoke and your black lipstick, and the ozone and the gunpowder and the steam from the clouds.

And now you're lying sleeping on my bed, your purple satin dress drying by the air conditioner. You're wearing one of my t shirts, it reaches almost to your knees. Your hair is in a cute simple pony tail and there's the tiniest smile on your lips. I'll wait another while before I have to wake you to put you in a car service and send you home.

I wish you could stay all night.

The Third Night Of Summer

Emily is sitting on my bed eating a chocolate donut, we both ate quite a few of them tonight. The smile on her face is the best description of joy I've ever seen. She looks gorgeous tonight in a yellow crepe sun dress, elegant and languid. But there's a crumb of chocolate on her cheek that makes her look like the little kid raiding the cookie jar, it's so adorable. I know I should tell her it's there, but I think I'll enjoy it few minutes more.

We took a walk on the Promenade earlier tonight. The air was steamy and the heat lightning was flashing over the harbor. We had Casey with us, for some reason he's never afraid of the lightning when he's with the two of us.  I think he understands a lot more than he lets on....

I love watching the lights of the skyline reflected in Emily's dark brown eyes.

We took a walk down under the bridge to see the new artificial waterfall that's been erected there for the summer. It's right under the bridge on the cobblestone walkway that leads to the park, and it's about ten stories high and a hundred feet wide, pumping river water up to the top and dropping it in a cascade under colored flood lights. When Emily saw it she kicked her sandals off, took Casey's leash from my hand and ran with him into the spray blowing back onto the walkway. She danced and twirled and Casey spun around her and leaped on his hind legs like a puppy, the two of them kicking up rainbows in the puddles. After a few minutes her hair was hung with watery diamonds and her cheeks were wet with spray, and Casey was barking for the joy of it, his coat shining with silver drops of water. I took Emily in my arms and kissed her, tasted the spray on her lips and the sweat on her cheeks, while Casey spun around us, tangling his leash around our ankles.

Later we walked back up the hill like two angels from a black and white movie, with Casey as our guide. And now Emily is sitting on my bed while I write this, looking elegant and languid, except for that crumb of chocolate on her cheek. Casey had his dinner and is sleeping the sleep of the well-fed. Maybe I'll tell Em about the crumb, and maybe I won't. She looks so darn cute!

Nerd Girls

There was a nerd girl contestant on Jeopardy tonight, she was adorable. Short straight hair, horn rimmed glasses, looking both shy and brave at the same time. Standard Hollywood beauties don't really do anything for me, but I totally cannot resist a nerd girl.

Partly it's the glasses, I love glasses on a woman. Most of the women I know who wear glasses look far cuter with them than without them. But mostly it's the attitude. It's knowing she isn't the goddess, but being brave enough to be the woman. Nerd girls have heart, and guts and hope, and I'd rather know a girl like that than one with perfect tits any day of the week. Hell, when it comes down to it, nerd girls aren't just my drool objects, they're my heroines.

Emily is a nerd girl. I saw it the day I met her, the tortoise shell glasses, the pony tail, the smile that's scared to death and hopeful all at the same time. Some part of me started to fall for her on the way down the hillside, when I still thought she was just an ordinary girl. Wow, that word so does not apply to her!

 

Blame It On The Moon

The full moon looks so soft tonight, gently blurred by clouds and fog. The street is quiet, the fog muffling the sound of your boot heels as we take Casey for his last walk of the night. Your black dress is shimmering with droplets of fog and dew, and when you're backlit by the street light your hair is shining with a million little prisms of rainy light. I pull you closer to me and kiss you, and I taste the fog on your lips. I love the way you stand on tiptoes and wrap your arms around my neck!

And now I've sent you home in a car service, and it's so quiet in here again. You just left a few minutes ago, and already I miss you.

Romance

Jane and I took a spring night walk through the Village and Soho last night. We'd gone to see Norah Jones' film debut in "My Blueberry Nights." Afterward we were both in that dreamy rain swept world where the fantasies you just saw in the movie are so much more appealing than most of your real life. Jane was chilly so I draped my denim jacket around her shoulders and we walked along Houston Street under an almost full moon.

We laughed when we passed a restaurant called Jane, I told her she apparently has a lot going on in her life: a boyfriend, a lover, a husband to be, a gay best friend who takes her to concerts and even a magazine named after her, and now this restaurant too. She said it's a lot to manage but she's doing her best. Silly moments like this one make me so glad she's my friend.

We were crossing LaGuardia Place when it occurred to me that I'd really like to have a romance in my life. Even though, as Oscar Wilde observed, having a romance always leaves one feeling so utterly unromantic. Guess I just miss all that angst....

Later on, after we'd strolled through Soho and taken a cab home and walked Casey and said goodnight and I'd fed the kids their dinners I realized I was still thinking about this. I also realized I must be out of my mind for wanting such a thing but hey, the heart wants what it wants, right? So I started to think about the possibilities.

Goth girl? No way, she's a friend I love more than I know how to say, but I love her as a friend. And I know she feels the same way about me. (And see, honey, I kept my promise to never use your name in here!) We like each other way too much to ever fall in love.

Same thing goes for Jane and me. She's probably my best friend on the planet, and she means more to me than I could ever express, but as to the thought of anything happening between us? Yuck! I'd rather gouge my eyes out with an ice cream stick!

That leaves Emily....dear Emily. Nobody has ever gotten me the way you do, Em. Nobody has ever loved me the way you do. Hell, I'd marry you tomorrow if it weren't for the whole dead thing! Truth is, we've talked about it, but apparently the rules are clear, we both have to be on the same side of the veil. Well, at least that gives me something to look forward to....

Walking In The Rain

Last night Emily and I took a walk in the rain. She was wearing one of those ridiculous yellow slickers that school children used to wear, and yellow pull-on boots. On her it looked totally adorable. She had the hood pulled up over her head, but when she smiled up at me I could see the raindrops sparkling on her tortoise shell glasses. The slicker made a crinkling sound when she slipped her arm through mine.

We were giving Casey his evening walk, and I let her hold the leash. Casey likes her a lot. I think he knows that when she walks him he's number one and I'm a distant second. I'm totally fine with that. I don't often say it, but Casey's happiness matters to me more than most people would ever imagine.

When we got home I took her slicker and hung it in the shower to drip dry alongside my rain jacket and set about getting dinner for Casey and Bobthecat. Emily was wearing a brown cotton sweater and corduroy skirt. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots off, showing matching knee socks. She looked like every adorable nerd girl in every teen movie ever made.

She pulled herself up on the bed and sat cross legged on the pillow with her back on the wall, and sighed with contentment. Bobthecat, having finished his dinner, hopped up on the bed and curled up in her lap, purring as only Bob can do. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and looked up at me with a laugh welling up inside her. "Wow Jim, your kids really like me!"she giggled. "Does this mean we're getting serious?"

Do you really need to ask, Em?

You Know What Your Name Is

I've never written your name in here, either your real name or the one you use in the world. Too bad, because I love your name. I love saying it aloud, I love the sound of it. I love that saying it makes me see your face, even when you're not here, and it reminds me how much I love this silly, wonderful party we have, where we're the guests of honor.

I think you were a coyote in a previous life. The Native Americans all said that Coyote was a holy trickster, who knew how to laugh at everything, but who never forgot that everything is sacred. And you're the holy chameleon who taught me how to laugh again, a skill I'd badly neglected.

And so I'll keep your name a secret, the way you asked me to. But whenever we're together, please don't be afraid to use my name. I love how it sounds on your lips, wether you're laughing, or sighing, or panting, or only murmuring it in your sleep while I hold you so close. It never sounded so good, or made me feel so whole, as it does when you say it.

Emily's Smile

I've never seen anybody who smiles more than Emily does. To her, everything is a chance for joy. I asked her what her secret is and she just laughed, she said, "Jim, it's so simple! Everything is always getting better, so each second the world is a better place than it was. I just look forward to everything!"

"Everything?" I asked.

"Everything, Jim! When you see the world like that you don't believe in fear anymore, or sadness, or regret."

"That just sounds so hard to me, honey. Lately it seems like wherever I look the tears are right there under the surface, just barely covered."

She put her arm around my shoulder as we sat under the comforter. "I know, Jim, I can see it when I look into your eyes and it breaks my heart sometimes. I wish I could just reach in and pull it out of you. I remember when I felt like that, how sad and grey it was."

"How did you get out from under it, Em?"

She laughed and said, "Jim, I just died! Once I stepped outside of it all I could see how it all works, and it was so simple and so beautiful that I've been watching it ever since. Just the sight of it all moving forward makes me so happy I can't help but laugh."

She lay back on the bed and I laid my head on her breast. The silence still takes some getting used to, the quiet where experience tells you there should be a heartbeat, there should be the whisper of breathing. But there's so much comfort there!

After a few minutes I got up and put some soft music on, Sarah McLachlan. I climbed back in bed as Emily started to sing along. Emily has a gorgeous, clear alto voice and she loves to harmonize with Sarah, and Joan Osborne, and Katie Melua. I always kid her about how all her favorite music happened after she died, and she laughs and says that's why she stayed here, for the music. But if I put on something hard and fast and loud, like Meat Loaf, or The Hooters, look out, the girl can dance!

But tonight it's not about dancing fast or singing loud, it's about being quiet, and still, and together. It's about realizing we trust each other totally and completely. It's about floating on Long Island Sound together, letting the wind and the waves pick our course. It's about the sun on the hillside, and the grass so ready to live, or to die. And to be grateful for whichever one comes....

Dreaming About Alma

I went to my daughter's soccer game last night, Alma scored two goals plus an assist and made a couple of wicked defensive plays out of the midfield. I taught her well. After the game Marissa and I took the team out for pizza and ice cream. There's nothing quite as happy as a table full of eleven year old girls in dirty soccer uniforms on a pizza high.

Hours later Marissa and I opened her bedroom doorway so softly, just to check on her. She was sound asleep in her flannel night gown, midnight black hair spread across her pillow, the smallest piece of a smile on her lips and the game ball tucked under her arm. Marissa took the ball out of her grip so softly she never even stirred and laid it on the floor by the bed. She whispered that when she was a girl in Cuba she used to do the same thing every time her team won a game. We closed the door so slowly that the latch almost didn't click at all and walked down the hall, our arms around each others' shoulders.

"We've done good, haven't we honey?" Marissa asked me. "Yeah, we have," I answered. "Our daughter is strong and beautiful and in a few years she'll be a soccer superstar, she might even make the Olympics."

Marissa ran her hand down my arm, squeezed my hand and smiled up at me. "And it's not just her, is it Jim? It's us too, isn't it?

You know it, dear.

How Does Zen Work In The Rain?

What happens when a raindrop lands in a river? Does it reach nirvana and become one with the watery infinite? Do its molecules dance in the current, and when they sing with joy for being free do we hear it as the sound of water rushing?

And what about the raindrop that misses the river and lands on the beach? Does it reach nirvana when it splashes on the sharp dry sand and spreads out, thinner and thinner, until it reaches all the other raindrops falling and spreading out?

 

 

Easter Afternoon

Jesus sitting on the stone doorstep of the tomb with the afternoon sun in his face, he can't believe it's finally really over. He picks up a handful of sand and laughs while he watches it run through his fingers and blow away in the afternoon breeze. There are shrubs and plants all along the cemetery path, lavender and aloe, juniper and desert rose. He looks at them and thinks to himself, wow, I've never really seen green before. He picks a tangerine from a bush by the side of the path, peels it and puts a piece in his mouth and he's amazed, nothing has ever tasted so good!

The sun's sinking lower now, he has to squint if he looks to the west. In the distance he sees figures moving up the path toward him and he can't help but smile as they get closer. His mother comes first, carrying a wooden tray piled high with hummus and taboule and fresh baked pita bread. Behind her comes Peter with a platter of gefilte fish, followed by John with a tray of dates and almonds and cherries. Jesus laughs out loud as he realizes he's never felt this hungry before in his whole life.

His eyes fill with tears of joy as the group gets closer and he sees all his friends are there. All the apostles, all the lepers he cured, all the guys from the carpenters' union. Then he saw her, bringing up the rear, looking shy and hopeful. Magdalene, dearest Magdalene, you waited for me, didn't you?

An hour later and the sun is going down while the band is getting started. Bach is on harpsichord, Handel on violin. Rev. Gary Davis is holding his guitar, his blind eyes turned to the sun. Mahalia Jackson is standing ready at the mike on center stage as the band tunes up. Finally Leonard Bernstein steps up on the podium and picks up his baton.

By now it's dark outside and everyone's having the time of their lives. Jesus' mom is dancing with Peter while the band plays Rock My Soul In The Bosom Of Abraham. Judas is dancing with Martha, when the band takes a break he walks over to Jesus, says, "God, J! I'm sorry! I really thought I was doing the right thing!" Jesus laughs, slaps him on the shoulder, says, "Don't sweat it bro!" Then Magdalene steps up, says, "Dance with me, Jesus?"

"You'll never have to ask twice, luv!," says Jesus as he takes her hand.

Do You Believe In The Equinox?

Statues made of sand, melting in the rain. Gods and beautiful ladies, their sandy hands and faces grooved with little rivers and lit by lightning from a purple sky. All is noise, roaring water, crashing thunder, lightning sizzling, but the statues are calm. Their eyes look to heaven, they're going home soon.

 

The Rain Before Easter

Winter ends tonight, a little after two in the morning the sun will pass the equator on its way back north. The rain that's falling outside will change from wintertime rain to spring rain, from cold and blue to warm and green. Somewhere so high above the clouds the winter constellations are slipping down below the horizon. Orion is carrying a snow shovel on his shoulder, hanging from his belt is a pouch full of memories of Christmas. Aquarius is carrying the empties from the New Year's party along with his jug of water. Pisces swims the stellar ocean with a Valentines card in his fishy mouth. One by one they slip out of the present, leaving only memories like old photos in a shoe box.

It won't be long before Earth rolls over, and stretches and yawns....

Baseball and Wedding Gowns

Emily is sitting on my bed wearing my Yankees cap, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it. The cap is too big for her and it keeps slipping down over her eyes, she smiles each time she pushes it up with the back of her throwing hand, while the ball is in the air. It's almost like a new way of playing jacks; throw the ball, tip the cap, catch. She told me she played Little League as a girl, first base. She tosses the ball to me where I'm sitting here at the computer and we play catch across the room. She does this whenever I'm feeling low, she knows it always cheers me up.

She also loves reading every word I write about her. When I showed her "Ghost Wedding" her eyes welled up and for a moment I couldn't tell if she was crying or laughing, then she turned on that incredible smile, while the tears ran down her cheeks. God, she never looked so beautiful as then!

When she finished reading she looked up at me and asked, "Jim, did you really like me in that outfit? I was so afraid I'd look like a dork! I only wore it because it was in your mind after you watched the Cirque du Soleil video, but when I was putting it on I was like, God, he's gonna laugh at me!" True, it wasn't really her style. She's much more into jeans and boots and the occasional denim skirt. But Em, if you could have seen yourself, wow! You had me, right then and there. You melted me and I was yours. When I struck the flint and steel, and lit the candle you held, it was forever.

And now it's about one in the morning, and you're curled up in my bed under the covers wearing my Yankees t shirt for a night gown, so still and so silent. There's a little soft fragment of a smile on your lips, and I'm melting all over again looking at you.

It's all so quiet, so happy and complete, and in a few minutes I'll climb under the covers with you and hold you tight until morning comes.

After The Show With Jane

One of my favorite things is riding through the city with you in a cab on a stormy night. I love looking out through the rain streaked windows at the neon and the water, at the shiny slick pavements and the dripping trees. Outside all's cold and wet and raw, but inside we're cozy and dry, talking about the show we've just seen. And when we get quiet I listen to the wipers sounding like a heartbeat, and I always think of Me And Bobbie McGee...

And when we arrive home, I always wish the trip had taken a little longer.

Summer Flashback

Tonight I'm remembering you sitting cross-legged in the summer grass, the sun putting highlights like new pennies in your hair. You smoothed the denim skirt over your knees, pulled your hair back into a pony tail, and turned your face gratefully to the summer sky. Your cheeks showed just the hint of a summer tan. The air smelled of salt water and hydrangeas. You passed me a peanut butter sandwich and laughed at some joke I'd made, and you looked so totally happy that I had to laugh myself. Of all the good times we've shared, that was one of the best.

It's a nice memory to have on a winter's night, Jane.

Thank You

I never knew that marble could make such a cozy pillow, or that a blanket of snow could be so warm and soft. I never knew a feeling like this before.

Here under the covers there's a glow the color of sunrise in the desert, and wherever it reaches the air is warm and ripe with wildflowers. And I see the glow comes from your heart, it's actually shining inside you. Your heart is small and perfect, and when I hold you close to me the light shines through us both and we become one, a being of perfect light. God knew what She was doing when She thought of this!

 

Ghost Wedding

She danced her way across the room in a slow funeral waltz, her skin as white as snow, her eyes rimmed in black, her lips the color of a bruise. Her hair was white as icicles, her face younger than morning. She wore an innocent cotton night gown, stockings and garters, all purest white. Her fingers circled a small white candle, around her neck a white cross hung from a white chain.

She stopped in front of me, just as I'd prayed she would, and in that moment all sound and motion stopped. We faced each other on a bare stage under pumpkin colored firelight and she stood before me in first position, holding the candle to her breast.

She reached up and touched the Om that hangs on a silver chain around my neck, and I noticed there was something else on the chain too. I ran my fingers over a small sliver of flint and a piece of steel, hanging on that same chain. She leaned closer to me, holding the candle between us like a shield, and mouthed the word, "Please?"

I didn't even stop to think, I just undid the chain from around my neck for the first time in more than a decade, and struck the flint and steel above the wick of the candle she held. The spark kissed the wick and a flame was born, and the corners of her mouth turned up in the happiest smile I'd seen in a lifetime. She held the burning candle in her left hand, and her right hand twined around my left and we both squeezed like we never wanted to let go.

And we turned and walked back down the aisle, back into the lives that are our own and nobody else's, and we couldn't help but laugh as we kissed. 

Daylight In Winter

The wind is blowing through orchards and graveyards, the sky is burning, the stores are all closed. The rivers got buried by bright yellow sand dunes, our horses walked off through the green salty grass. The libraries tossed all their books in the ocean, now the shelves are all hungry, the air's full of dust. And you're walking the ridge line with tears in your brown eyes, hold on to my hand, it'll all be alright.

No Footprints In The Snow

I wonder where you are tonight. Are you sitting on a tree branch in Fort Tryon Park, watching the cloudy moonlight shining on the snow? Do you wander the museum at night, trying on medieval jewelry and singing in the old stone apse? I'd love to watch that!

I guess I kind of envy the way everything seems to make you happy. I wish you could teach me to do that. Lately it seems that no matter where I look there are tears so close beneath the surface of everything.

Some day when it's all over, and it's all started for real, I guess it'll make sense to me.

Just Another Winter Tuesday Night

All I want is quiet, and a cozy place to sit and watch the sky. I love watching the stars walk so stately slow in their circle of misty light. Even more I like looking out through my blinds at the rain humming to itself in its hissing voice. Every now and then there's an eclipse of the moon, and that's really special. I saw my first one back in the early eighties from the Promenade, surrounded by hundreds of star freaks and seekers. At its height the moon looked like an old dirty penny in the gutter, stained invisible reddish brown and almost lost against the suddenly bright stars. And when the light returned after a couple of hours all the people cheered, and I realized how hard it had kicked me in the guts.

The Ghost And The Machine

I googled "ghosts" last night, there were 39,300,000 results. Emily was sitting beside me, she laughed herself silly at that. I've been showing the modern world to her a bit at a time. The internet took some explaining, when she died in 1982 computers were still pretty rare. I showed her how to use the mouse and the keyboard and let her look at the search results.

"God, Jim, what are people so afraid of?" she asked me. "Damned if I know, honey.They only want to believe in the things they can see and touch and hold in their hands." She laughed at that. "Well, you can see me, right?" "Yes." "And you can for sure touch me, right?" "Oh yeah!" "And I totally love it when you hold me, Jim, do you love it too?" "Do you have to ask?" 

 I'd probably say roflmao, but you wouldn't know what that meant, would you? So I'll just say, "Urs4ever!" Love ya baby!

 

Valentine's Day, A Long Time Ago

Remember that sand bar on the edge of Galveston Bay? Our feet touching under the warm salt water, the hems of our jeans dripping, passing the bottle of bourbon back and forth while the Texas sunset gleamed in your eyes? You took off that silly purple felt hat and stuck it on my head and started laughing, and I couldn't help kissing you.

The oil tankers were lined up along the horizon, gliding into the harbor as the sun set, and you asked me what the different lights on the ships meant. And I told you how the running lights worked, and the masthead lights, and how it feels to climb a swaying mainmast while the first stars are waking up. And you started to sing "Dock Of The Bay" so softly, almost a whisper, while the Texas sun sank into the sea. And I sang harmony, it was the first time we ever sang together, and I was even more scared than I was the first time you kissed me.

Just Another Friday Night

Watching the sand pile up where the river used to flow, watching the sand fill the channel til the water's gone underground. You're only the ghost of a river now, and the lines in the sand are the ghost of the current that used to boil over the rocks. You're just a zen garden now, sleeping in the sun.

And I'm lying here on a bed made of sunlight and flat stones, trying to remember the last late night that I didn't want to cry.

Watching the sun going down through the trees, watching the light shine like burning roses on the libraries and the grave stones. Seems like everybody I ever cared about is either dead or crazy, or both.

And I'm lying here on a bed made of summer moonlight and gravel, trying to remember the last late night that I didn't want to cry.

So Glad You Were Here!

I just sent you home in a car service, and now it's so quiet in here. Tonight was the absolute best Super Bowl ever and I know because I've seen all forty two of them, but most of them happened before you were born. But hey, you had a great time tonight, didn't you?

I remember the night I met you, at a Meat Loaf concert last summer. You were wearing a black lace victorian grave dress, torn fishnets, black lipstick and blood red eye shadow and I was hooked the minute I saw you. We had a late dinner at my favorite place on Eighth Avenue and walked the steaming canyons hand in hand under the midsummer moon.

And early in the morning I sent you home in a car service, and it was so quiet in here.

I almost didn't recognize you when you showed up tonight, in jeans and ugh boots and a Giants jersey. No makeup and your black hair in a pure and simple ponytail. God, you were adorable! We sat on my bed eating the world's most eclectic Super Bowl dinner: potato chips and guacamole, followed by Hunan dumplings and grape leaves, with fresh bananas and prosecco wine for dessert. I'm so glad you're a veggie person too!

At half time you sang along with all the Tom Petty songs, which cracked me up since most of them were written when you were almost an infant. And I almost fell off the bed laughing at your imitation of the idiot tv announcers trying to sound like they had a clue about anything. And that last five minutes, when everything was on a seesaw and Eli escaped what had to be a sack and threw the impossible touchdown pass you yelled even louder than I did, and that last thirty five seconds, I think your nails actually drew blood from my palm!

We watched the trophy presentation and listened to the interviews, and now I've sent you home in a car service, and it's so quiet in here....wish you could have stayed the night!

 

The End Of January

Emily, if you'd just tell me where you left your body I'd go leave mine there to keep it company. I wouldn't need it anymore and we could leave them in some sunny place, half buried in warm sand, arms around each other under the afternoon sun. In a few centuries they'd be just a pile of dust feeding the desert roses and waiting for the springtime rain.

Then we could start our real life!

January

Christmas tree corpses stacked in the streets like plague victims. Bring out your dead! Rooms looking bare and empty where the strings of lights shone. The gifts all put to use or put away, the bright colored paper all gone now. 

Just the grey light of winter, and a pearl colored sky that's thinking about snow.

Happy Birthday, Joan Of Arc

(Joan Of Arc was born on January 6, 1412, in Domremy, France)

Everyone remembers the way you died, Joan, the smoke and the screaming and crowds laughing and jeering while your soul rose to heaven on clouds of black cinders. Everyone saw the weasly priest holding the crucifix before your face as the hay bales caught and the flames rose, telling you to pray to Jesus for forgiveness. He was the one who should ask forgiveness, he and all the monsters who crush human hearts and pick human wallets while claiming to know the will of God.

It's too bad nobody remembers that today is your birthday, Joan. They don't remember the little baby being carried into the stone chapel at Domremy on a frosty January morning to be christened. They never saw you at three years old, playing in the meadow in your linen smock, picking daisies and putting them in your hair. They didn't notice you at twelve, looking at your reflection in the mill pond and wondering what the son of the miller saw when he looked at you. I hope his heart skipped a beat when he saw you, and that years later, when he was an old man sitting in the sun outside his mill, he remembered the first love of his life.