even in New York I was someone else—
I wore my sister’s clothes & waited by the stage door.
a woman asked if I like the attention &
almost I apologized
for the glow of the streetlamp,
the red lights passing in the rain.
they watched you watch me, darling:
you saw me, & they saw.
something about my spirit, you said,
the way the light kicks up glitter
instead of dust. me, the last woman
left in SoHo, or the world.
storybook bullshit, because you still believe:
me, on my horse, here to save you
from the worst part of anything.