Are taxis in New York, in a manifestation of the politically incorrect, which speed farther north; are beggers in Decani; are belly dancers in our child's minds, or in the bells of Fleetwood Mac. I am thinking of them now because I hear such bells, such coins; because the bottom of this woman's skirt beside me shivers to the hearty, breathy beat of my delight.
I am still wondering about London. I am not taken, but torn. I am insistent on learning to love this city and yet, my own escapades have failed me. The gray of the sky sheds itself on the buildings, the ash of pigeons so much more than animal: body of urbanity rather than real, ripe, wretched plumes. I want that blood of Berlin, the way of opening my eyes with such slight, slow pleasure that I knew the city saw me back. That I knew it blinked its bright, yellow eyes and yet never revealed my most naked of noddings.
There is an incredible awkwardness here; between the fat, full center, or centre (in British speak), or centaur (in my imagination, of course). And the lax outskirts, with human hands too few and far between. It could be the lack of nostalgia that at once nicely numbs and disappoints, the impossibility of bringing back, of begging back or breaking open other, icey, aged lives. It could be that I am actually growing up. Or that it is hard, in the constant shadow of such sadness, to really look, to really bite open these streets of sweater-shops and shy bricks. To really love back.
Walking through the park, devoured by the tulips of the queen; squinting my eyes not to the sun but to capture the ornate etchings beneath Big Ben; red velvet cake coated in marscapone frosting, coconut, mango, buttercream cheesecake, ginger & sour cherry merengues, soft chocolate-banana muffins. That was my London this time. A Sunday roast in a wharf, long wandering, large, fluffy, HOT vanilla latte. Laughter and Gossip Girl. Down bedding and boiling bath. The raw reflection of all day tea. Top Shop torn to bits.
I could live in London if I had money. And the sooty certainty of this is not so different from the city I hold closest to my heart.
