jolie laide

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.


Trying to clear last year's writings off my carry-around pad:

I watched him out the cab's rear window. Watched him walk away down the dark street, watched him as he dropped a coin into a homeless guy's paper cup, leaned over to say something, and I knew he was using the way he could be gentle with troubling people.

I passed him on the street once too, while I was on the bus. Saw him stopped at the light, straddling his bike, one foot on a pedal, waiting for traffic to clear, with a backpack snugged to his shoulders earnest as a boy scout.

He could be so joyous, he would laugh and gleefully rocket his sturdy body around the room, his mirth huge, uncontainable.

I missed him, somehow. Missed something, something precious flew right past me. And now he doesn't miss me. The silence tells me. I delete him from my cellphone.


Post a Comment

<< Home