Thursday, April 30, 2015


Perry.  99 Perry St. in the West Village.  I didn't grow up there, but I grew there. On the right is my friend Nina.  I'm on the left capturing memories.

It's not only food but photos and poems bring forth memories.  And, yes, precisely -- food.  Thinking of butterfish dipped in buttermilk and coasted with sesame seeds.  Sauted -- gently.

Back in SF, reading Broken Land, poems of Brooklyn which Nina gifted.

From a specific address to butterfish to poems about Brooklyn.  How?   Because friendship matters.

Thinking of Judy G and Ron.  Where are you?

1 comment:

  1. cp223 footsteps

    As if sinking under birds' wings
    a mighty conflagration halts their motion
    builds into a roaring wave
    of sound and sentimental wishes
    crashing upon the tiny shores
    sending birds off to the north

    something mighty happens
    and in the ruckus of the centuries
    flowers land on the headstones
    of her friends and neighbors
    and they feel the brush of wind
    on the surface of their souls