The Blue Pitcher

New York: A Love Story

2009-11-05T10:34:00.005-05:00

It was 1996, and I was dating a poet who lived in Spanish Harlem. I called him Blue, and he called me Miriam and left little notes all over my apartment. I'd go to light a cigarette or open the fridge for juice, and there I'd find--in his scribbled hand--a tiny fading note. I found them for years, actually: Trumpet, or, The sky was crooked, or, This is not a metaphor: my heart is full.

But the night I'm remembering we were in his apartment, his tiny, dirty apartment. It was late October, and I was wearing that old army jacket, and we were sitting on a futon mattress on the floor trying to break up. He was crying; I was sopping up pizza grease with a paper napkin. You, he said, are the coldest person I have ever known. (This haunted me for years. Am I cold? I'd ask people, particularly after wild displays of warmth.)

And then, suddenly, in the midst of one of our painful long silences, we heard something coming from outside. The whole city was going wild. Horns honked, and music played, and we ran to the window and pushed it open and let the cold air rush in. The streets were filled with people celebrating. "What the hell happened?" my poet yelled.

We were lost, two flights up, wild-haired in the wind. A man looked up at us. "The Yanks just won the World Series, you #**##%! idiots!" Before we knew it, we were out in the street, holding hands and laughing and the whole city was on fire. Those moments were so magical--so alive and spirited--that we stayed together for a couple of months--me and the poet--and while we never did manage to fall in love, it was that night that I fell so hard for New York that I knew that I'd never want to leave.

Day 337

2009-11-01T07:36:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, Eva, you had a balloon, and you wouldn't let go of it, and so I worried that you would suddenly let go of it and that it would float up into the blue, and you would cry and cry, and it would be a lesson on how balloons float away if you don't hold onto them. Finally, it occurred to me that I could tie it to your wrist and save you, at least for a little bit, from having to learn that lesson, and so I did, and then we played and played, and later it came undone and floated away, but by then our minds were somewhere else, and we hardly even noticed as it got smaller and smaller before disappearing entirely.

Send in the Clowns

2009-10-31T20:17:00.000-04:00

Subway Poem 10

2009-10-30T10:37:00.001-04:00

An Orthodox boy carries a hat box
And stares at an old map.
He's never been where he's going.

And beyond him, another man
With hundreds of keys
And a black umbrella.

I want to tell him how cloudless
It is above ground,
Tell him his umbrella is useless.

Here, a baby cries,
And down in Memphis,
A baby waits to be born.

Yesterday, my oldest friend asked
If we ever get over the past.
I thought of him all those miles
And years and years away.

I sure hope not.

Subway Poem 9

2009-10-28T15:30:00.000-04:00

I've got a rubber chicken
In a plastic bag
And I'm Coney Island bound
On the F-train

People are wearing pearls
And smacking gum
And reading the Post

And I'm wondering
If before all this
There was a rubber egg
If it came first
Came before this chicken

Wondering if home will come first
Come before the cyclone and the sea
Wondering if these doors will open
And I'll wander out to find a saner me

Day 331

2009-10-26T14:33:00.007-04:00

O, Evabird, I'm baffled by how much there is to teach you. This is the fall, and these are the leaves and this is what the leaves do in the fall; this is the ground; (that is the crunch of the leaves that you hear with your ears! & these are your ears!); this is a wheelbarrow, and over there is a pumpkin; this is an orange pumpkin in a blue wheelbarrow under an even bluer sky; this is green and this is red, and red means stop, or sometimes love, and green means go or grass or that you may be feeling ill or envious, or that spring is near because the tips of trees are turning green, but spring is really not near at all; this is fall, and then there will be winter, and it will snow, and I will worry about all the things I may have forgotten, and I will wish us another thousand seasons and hope that in them, everything else will come.

Subway Poem 8

2009-10-22T09:02:00.000-04:00

The tunnel was dark.
The woman was warm.
Would you rather be light?
The woman asked.
Would you rather be cold?
The tunnel replied.
The woman said nothing.
Instead, she stepped onto the train,
Pulled her hair off her neck
To cool herself

And in the sway of the train
And the dark of the window
She made a list of all
That she had ever loved.
You were there, of course,
On the list, along with the birds
And fall and falling,
But then there were other things,
Darker things, tunnels, silences.
And the list grew and grew
Until it became something else entirely,
Something silver and filled

And hidden under the city,
Something pulsing, vibrant,
Entirely unseen from the sky,
Almost invisible in its desire.

Subway Poem 7

2009-10-21T14:47:00.000-04:00

I've started believing that if you wait long enough, the train will come, and if you wait even longer, it'll go, then come again and go, come again and go, and probably if you waited even longer, the building would crumble and the tracks erode. No, that's not right. It would all just get slicker and newer and faster, and you'd still be standing on the platform when it started wearing down again, and hell, you'd think, I've been standing here since it only cost a buck to get on this train. And you'd laugh at all the suckers who paid $2.25, laugh and laugh, and they'd look at you like you were just some crazy on the platform, standing there while the trains enter and leave the station, again and again, like the most obedient of sunrises.

Two Blissful Years

2009-10-20T11:03:00.000-04:00

Day 322

2009-10-17T14:50:00.003-04:00

Today, my little love, you've eaten blueberry pancakes at 4 am in a vegas casino, and you've laughed (hard!), and you've swam in
a swimming pool and napped with your dad and said Hi to at least a hundred strangers, and just minutes ago, inside the cabana, you took your first steps. The breeze is light, and the palm trees are tall, and every moment I love you more than I loved you the last. Happy 322nd Day! I hope it's your best one yet.

And then there's this...

2009-10-13T22:52:00.001-04:00

Why I Subscribe to the Listserve (Ex. 3)

2009-10-13T22:48:00.001-04:00

My co-worker really likes beef jerky. So to thank him for his help this year, I'd like to buy him some good beef jerky. Not the mass produced kind that you can find at the supermarket. But the "gourmet" beef jerky that is very delicious. Does anyone know where I can buy "gourmet" beef jerky online or in Brooklyn?

Thanks in advance for your recommendations,
-Ellen

Why I Subscribe to the Listserve (Ex. 2)

2009-10-13T22:47:00.001-04:00

I get really bad headaches and get extremely dizzy while having sex. Does this happen to anyone?

Donna

Mom to Corey and Alex

Why I Subscribe to the Listserve (Ex. 1)

2009-10-13T22:41:00.000-04:00

Hello all,

I have inherited a quaker parrot. (Unbelievable story). The bird has became very attached to me and craves attention. So much so, that I can't give it all the love it deserves. In the process of keeping him, I purchased a beautiful med-large cage. It's powder dye (so it doesn't chip), a nice gray blue and on wheels. (Bought for $350; an impulse buy,wanted him to have the best)
I am selling both for $300 or best offer to a good home. I want to make sure that he goes to someone who has time to spend with him. training, etc. He is very smart and is talking. (he says goodbye when I leave. so sweet).

Please let me know if you are interested or if you want me to send some pics

Best,
Stella

Subway Poem 6

2009-10-12T07:51:00.001-04:00

Seeing Eva on the sonogram last year
Her spine so strong and perfectly curled
She looked like a seahorse

Now she waves at me from the window
As I leave for the train,
Checking my pockets
Again and again
For all I might have forgotten

It was easier when I carried her in me--
The seahorse, the sea--
Easier to understand how to be

Subway Poem 5

2009-10-09T13:54:00.000-04:00

A single escaped flower
Biding its time before rush hour
Still uncrushed

Subway Poem 4

2009-10-08T17:24:00.001-04:00

I wonder if you enjoyed your lunch today; if you left your paper at your desk and carried your sandwich--perfect in its plastic case--down to the courtyard; if the sun glinted off the foil as you unwrapped it; if, perhaps, unwrapping it, you found a Post-it that your lover had scrawled. Thinking of you, it read, in her knowable hand, then x's and o's, and your teeth sinking into the bread, and the wind, o wild fall wind. Soon she'll pull out that old blue scarf again.

Subway Poem 3

2009-10-07T18:20:00.001-04:00

The sun's on its way down
And the whole town's
Gone underground

Waiting for the train
Can hardly remember
This morning's rain

Down here, we're all so close
Your breath on my neck
My breath on her sleeve

Down here, it doesn't matter
That hours ago
I left my umbrella in some room

Doesn't matter who I miss
Or what I crave

Doesn't matter if you've got on
Gold peep-toes
Or a shiny yellow slicker

'cause down here
We're not going anywhere
But home

Day 319

2009-10-06T19:30:00.002-04:00

O Eva Jane, it seems you're not a bird anymore. Or maybe you're still a bit of a bird, but then equal parts wind and girl and sunshine and laughter. Already, it's hard to remember how you felt in my arms when you were first born, hard to imagine how my mind occupied itself all those years before you came. Your cry is no longer a seagull's squawk; it's become its own thing entirely, become you. 319 days on earth, and now fall is here. You're going to love its leaves and its breezes; and it--like everything that has ever come to know you--is going to love you too.

Subway Poem 2

2009-10-05T07:56:00.000-04:00

Night was a crocus
Now day
Slick and shiny
And miles away

I keep thinking
Someone will use
All this space to dance

The woman beside me
Smells like hair gel and syrup
And I can feel a mamba
In the knock of her elbow on mine

And you, sir, across from me
With those fancy black lace-ups,
You want to dance too, don't you?

And the whole train says...
5, 6, 7, 8
Let's all dance
Don't mind if we're late!

Subway Poem

2009-10-02T10:34:00.002-04:00

I'm between three women
Talking Chinese
And I'm acting like
I don't understand
Because I don't understand
The ads, those boots,
This man reading the bible
With his dry cleaning
On the pole
Rocking back and forth
Rocking like a treetop baby
And no one's singing
On this train
No one's begging or dreaming
At least not outloud
I've got nothing today
Not even a cup of coffee

Just got these shoes
And something knocking
The back of my heart
Something that feels
Like a song
Something that feels
Like it's been too long

The Teacher Looks Up from her Stack of Papers

2009-10-01T20:05:00.003-04:00

It seems strange to me that after all these falls and springs I still haven't gotten used to how cyclical the world is. I spent the day at home reading student drafts; my feet were cold because I haven't dug out last year's socks, and I worried I'd never have time to write again, and I worried Eva would never nap again. It's this sort of hyperbolic un-contextualized thinking that gets me in roar in my comments to my students. You must expand your thinking about [a given moment], I write in the margins, underlining must, decorating the whole thing with exclamation marks. Step outside of yourself! I say. I'm glad they never call me on it, never yell, When was the last time you stepped outside of yourself, woman?

[The teacher looks down sheepishly, exits stage left.]

What the Sky Said

2009-09-29T11:08:00.001-04:00

Teeth

2009-09-27T16:26:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, she cut her third tooth, and today it rains and rains. (So sharp and white, the glare, the windows.) Years ago, I dreamed my teeth fell out while I was standing in line at the grocery store, that I coughed and when I looked into my hand I found them: shiny, bone-like. I remember feeling terribly embarrassed of them and shoving them deep into my pockets. These days my dreams are quick and panicked, and I seem to remember all of them because I never get past them in sleep: I hover at the edge, like I've rolled up my blue jeans and am just sitting by the shore; I don't go any further than that; too afraid, I guess, that I won't hear Eva if she cries. I've been thinking of her growing up, how she'll lose these teeth, how we'll joke about doorknobs and strings and taking bites of apples, how she'll have dreams that she could never recount to me, dreams she won't even recall. The rain will stop. (I think it already has.) But now this: more glare through the windows; my hand absentmindedly touching her forehead, forever checking for fever; my finger reaching into her mouth and pressing on her gums. Teeth, I say. Teeth.

What to Do this Saturday

2009-09-24T12:09:00.006-04:00

Come to Prema Yoga
at 6 p.m.

Eat these:

Drink this:

Listen to these:

Original Fairy Tales
by

ADA LIMÓN

Sanjana Nair

Kristin Dombek

& me.

There will also be a raffle of manicures, Pilates sessions, massages, dresses, plants, toys,
Italian meals, books, and much, much more.
All to support:
this.

Hope to see you there!