How I see you
We spoke the other night about not seeing each other – about being at a party together and you seeing my three friends and not me, in Puerto Rico marching in a crowd, at Swirl amongst all our mutual friends, and all around this small tiny town New Orleans – yet not ever seeing each other – then on Tuesday, a fortnight ago, in the midst of a sumptuous feast for our eyes – a woman dressed as a lamb, a man dressed as a knight, a man as a pony, a woman on stilts, two M&Ms, three angels, one piggy, a woman in rollers, a fairy godmother on strike – an orgy of people, a riot of color, a crowd that we could have easily disappeared within – I saw you and you saw me – and suddenly the crowd recedes and you come into focus and two weeks seem impossibly too short a time for knowing you like I know you and wanting you like I want you and having you like I have you – and love again? If Castro can step down, if the sun can rise every morning, if the pelicans know how to return to the bayou each November, if all of these monumental events can happen without fanfare, without the earth stopping its spin, then why not you and I finding each other on Mardi Gras day.