he wants to fly into the hand of michelangelo/ and come out painted on a ceiling. the ambition bird, anne sexton.

today, i woke up early but didn’t leave my apartment early enough, waited too long for the f train that never came and got re-routed on the a to west 4th and missed my pilates class. $ down the drain. tried to see if i could navigate from the west village to the east village (where the pilates studio is) without my iphone so i could apologize in person for missing the class.

i couldn’t find it, so i walked down bowery for a long time and admired the architecture of the the bowery hotel. i love that bar, that bar is the bar that the frenchman took me to and peeled open his perfect heart.

i love new york city on early mornings, especially on the weekend when everyone who is anyone! is sleeping off a hangover. it is dead quiet before 1 pm, the only people that are out are mommies and daddies and old artistic couples carrying bags home to their soho loft, in preparation for tonight’s dinner for 6. let’s imagine the guest list: a renown portrait photographer of scottish descent, obligatory attorney or financier, cinematographer of blockbuster but also artistically appreciated films, recent divorcee of an australian magnate, and me, a nobody.

not. i settle at the whole foods on bowery and houston (i think). it is much better than the one in union square which reminds me of cows gone crazy in a slaughter house. come to think of it, i thought, as i walked in and grabbed coconut water on sale, last time i was in here was with the doctor. it was oh so many years ago before trader joes opened up in cobble hill and us brooklynites….starved.

anyways, i was beating myself up for missing my class. so i decided to eat of course. indian food, upstairs, next to the window. across the street is a park and i watched grown men play basketball, some of them really sucked. i could probably play better than them, i thought, my attention half at the table behind me. a table full of little girls, no more than 6 years of age.

i want a child too. and i wonder how long it’ll be before i have one. persephone will be her name. i think she’ll be a ballerina (hopefully she’ll get the frenchman’s legs) by day, and a heartbreaker by night. she will be much better looking than me, and more mysterious for it too. i’ll love her and it’ll be a pure love, not all shadowed by death like man-o to woman-o love is…

because with children, bar any calamitous events you can dream that they live beyond you, and therefore forever and you never have to imagine living without them.

back to the window at whole foods. it started to rain. i finished my food, and walked out with my bag of coconut water. as the bajans say, “it’s good for ya, daughter.”