jolie laide: Commuting and Crying

jolie laide

I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.


Commuting and Crying

He is sitting across from me on the train. Plain, fifty-ish, an immigrant day-laborer. He is compact, solid, with heavy boots and rough clothes. A copy of El Diario is wrung in his hands and he is weeping, his face crumpled into itself. My own chest constricts as I watch his loss.


Post a Comment

<< Home