gutenberg

ORIGINALLY POSTED January 30, 2023

on sunday morning i sat at the train station watching the heat rise off the hoods of taxi cabs. none of my friends were awake yet and didn't answer my calls for rides and i spent all my money the night before so i was eating candy i had in my purse and jamming the wrappers in my pocket while i waited for the bus. luckily i was wrapped in a large leather coat because my legs were bare and my tights were balled up tight in my handbag.

that morning i hurried through the lower east side and watched long women with little dogs take their time and saw iron pressed slacks and expensive coats. i was in all black leather which was chic the night before but when i passed the church and smiled at the priest i felt so dirty i went to the grocery store the block over and bought myself a bouquet of flowers. when i went outside and saw the two homeless people sleeping on the ground i thought i should turn around and run into the mass and slide into the pew in the back row.

the last time i prayed was last weekend. i was in the city then too, on a friday night, in the bathroom of the nicest jazz club i could afford. i was clad in velvet, saxophones were squealing, and a sweet boy in a tweed suit was waiting at our table. i was looking in the mirror and i looked beautiful. recently i've looked so beautiful, since i realized i have my mother's face over holiday break. my red lipstick and sculpted hair. my waist small and wrapped in black velvet. but i'm sicker than a dog and tilting my head down to dab cold water on the nape of my neck. then it hits me, so i pivot back to the stall and puke into the bowl. i'm nearly laughing at myself, horns still blaring and cello thumping, and i puke again. i'm looking at my neat hair fall into my eyes, my long legs in black tights shaking, little feet propped up in shined leather school shoes. what am i doing? i start praying to god to be forgiven, but noting that i'm thankful i get to throw up in this beautiful jazz club. so grateful i get to be here, i'm so sorry i'm like this, but thank you for making me this way. you want me to be like this, we love it. it's like when my father smiled seeing me stumble in the house drunk on new years. we all love it.

i turned back to the mirror and realize my makeup didn't smudge. my hair is still silky. my lipstick untouched. when i was in middle school a lunch lady stopped me to say i had the face of a porcelain doll. every time i glow like this i'm reminded of her. she was so right.

on sunday i rode the f train all the way to midtown and the screeching from the subway made me think of yelping dogs. it was brutal, i looked around to see if anyone else noticed but they didn't. i couldn't stop thinking of screaming, yelping, smeared and screeching dogs. this lousy metal instrument. the lousy metal zipper on my coat that broke so i had to hold my jacket closed at the top. how i was holding flowers and wasn't home and didn't go to church and didn't give the homeless people money and didn't eat breakfast. 

walking to grand central i saw a woman outside of a mcdonald's who stopped me and asked for a dollar so i gave her all the money i had in my wallet. she said "god bless you" and i told her not to think about it.