January
The poet and I went to this supermarket in chinatown to look for weird ingredients. There were all kinds of rice buns and pickled things in cans and one bag that was just labeled "food." We bought some things to make dumplings with because we wanted to see if we could make dumplings. We laughed and laughed during this project because dumplings are funny. They tasted quite good if you closed your eyes, we decided.
We sat on the steps of the Met last night and talked about our old romances. No one was around and it was so warm we didn't need our gloves. The thing about past romances is that sometimes they are quietly, appropriately remembered, and sometimes they are preserved in pages of potent metaphors. Last night, we didn't care about any ghosts. We talked about them as though they were other people's lovers, bodies who no longer mattered at all. Talking about the past seems frivolous when you are so interested in the present. Right now, everything tastes so good--eyes open or closed.