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HOME 2006-09-21
Giacomo Puccini B. 12.22.1858 Lucca, Italy / D. 11.29.1924 Brussels Throat Cancer I have the strangest this is true by the way thing—a phantom lover who first took my hand in hers on the Coney Island boardwalk this past spring on a Sunday—possibly the time I was listening to Tosca walking home from the F train after church in the sun.
The way it works I’ve learned is that when you’ve got a phantom lover you are beloved—there’s no doubt about this which makes you feel like a person of stature and valor whose soul is all delighted modesty in other words blessed—not only which but you love in return the bemusing presence by your side, the sun-worshippers’ brassieres, the tiny dogs, the men.
Maybe two other times on the boardwalk, once on the beach, last night on a downtown bus I’m noticing a pattern to church, that once on the way to communion—my phantom lover chooses her own moments—except the time I wanted you to meet me at the intersection by my job and you did I confess you if it keeps you near—if only to maintain this sudden and mysterious ability to walk along unbothered, unrecoiling from another’s freely given touch. Consolation Site: Audiences everywhere
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