reposted, the time i hit on marina oswald in a bar in dallas texas, April 1977.
"The memory is like a cat scratching my heart", said ms. oswald. "i used
to be mrs. oswald, but the government killed my husband" she spat at me,
half vodka, half mucus. then, in a wink, her face turned from the cold,
placid practiced mask, to a face that merely floated in front of a brain
that was fondly remembering. telling all it knows in subtle lifts of the
eyebrow and the corners of the lips.
for the next few hours marina oswald ran her finger tips over her lovely
face and grasped her own shoulders, sharing with me the stories of her and
her felled husband; the two lovers, rabbit hunting in the obvious gray of
a moscow winter afternoon.
to be mrs. oswald, but the government killed my husband" she spat at me,
half vodka, half mucus. then, in a wink, her face turned from the cold,
placid practiced mask, to a face that merely floated in front of a brain
that was fondly remembering. telling all it knows in subtle lifts of the
eyebrow and the corners of the lips.
for the next few hours marina oswald ran her finger tips over her lovely
face and grasped her own shoulders, sharing with me the stories of her and
her felled husband; the two lovers, rabbit hunting in the obvious gray of
a moscow winter afternoon.