Tuesday, September 30, 2008: On the Street....Hard Angles-Soft Edges, Paris

When lost in thought, the body goes into autopilot,
capable of walking to a destination
or obeying green and red traffic lights.

Once, I drove for thirty minutes across town
before realizing my mistake—east, not west.
A psych professor told me that the eyes of someone

in deep thought can mimic REM: eyelids
twitching, blinking hurriedly, till the thinker
resurfaces, a diver coming up for air.

Monday, September 29, 2008: On the Street.....Checks & Stripes, Milano

Newsprint is impermanent,
on purpose. It is meant

to self-destruct every day.
The edges of the pages fray

even as it first unfolds.
How am I supposed to hold

the news, with its excessive wingspan?
The pages shudder in my hands

as I fumble with the sections
and their sallow, grey complexions.

Friday, September 26, 2008: On the Street....Giovanna!, Milano

She answers her mobile, and slips in and out
of visibility.

Giovanna schedules a meeting for lunch,
her voice full of numbers,

of times, addresses, sizes, prices, dates.
The street around her

vanishes. Which is why I’m sure
she didn’t see me driving

past her. Not because she doesn’t love me.
I should call her later.

Thursday, September 25, 2008: At Marni

Yes, coffee. Yes, morning in the city. Yes to yellow buildings,
yes to September.
Yes Pollyanna, yes anthem, yes embarrassment,
yes to nonsense and eye contact and vulnerability.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008: At Prada, Milano

The black cardigan has been waiting
in my drawer with folded arms.
Its black buttons shine out at me,
round and wide as dilated pupils.
When I stick my arm into its sleeve
a little hole reveals itself
with the whiteness of my forearm.
All belongings have a life
that persists when not in use;
tucked into dressers and boxes, in storage,
our clothes atrophy and wilt.