Fragments from April Notebook (April 23rd "poem")

Tonight for dinner-- crackers (cracked wheat) with aged parmesan, small container of blackberries, dark chocolate, a few pecans, two glasses of good, inexpensive red wine. These foods the result of sunny day mania.

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Shaker spirit drawings. Their founder was a woman.

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The hands of someone familiar-- "someone's hands familiar."

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"Who do you think you are? You're not a star boarder." Something my great-grandmother used to apparently say.

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Reading Mom's People as a kid, I was puzzled by "Liz Taylor's violent eyes." Such passion! But seemed to judge her for it. Years later: "Oh. 'Violet.' "

Ice in Italian: il gelo.

My security words: "Unbity" and "and pendulum."

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Small girl on the bus saying "ever ever ever."

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Jim Carroll and James Schuyler before bed. Life is short. I don't know how to live it.

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The nice empty feeling when you cull and organize.

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That guy I dated who'd make a face of mock-disgust when he was glad to see me. It was funny at first.

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Bench in Central Park. Tourists from eastern Europe (acting their idea of American?). Bird whistle like the disco cop whistle in Donna Summer's "Bad Girl."

Dream: Archive of everything. What it leaves out.