Know that music notes
are pinned to clotheslines
that we also call pages.
Because who knows if
what the guitarist holds is a guitar
or a woman turned wooden.
Some might call its strings stitches.
Photo by Ben Raynal
Know that music notes
are pinned to clotheslines
that we also call pages.
Because who knows if
what the guitarist holds is a guitar
or a woman turned wooden.
Some might call its strings stitches.
Photo by Ben Raynal
First day of school shppiong in Princeton. On Nassau Street. Every year we went to the same shoe store and bought a particular brand ( name of which escapes me ) because my pediatrician grandfather convinced my mother that kids had to have good quality shoes or else our feet wouldn’t develop properly. Is that why I have great arches? The same salesman waited in us every year. It was consistency. Like the eye doctor, the dentist, our pediatrician. For a Spanish of about five years which seemed like a lifetime. Guess it was like a lifetime; from the ages 5 to 10, it was half a lifetime. The routine and structure of those yearly rituals are the basis for my New Jersey nostalgia. The shoe salesman was just as important to my well being as my doctor. I remember the former’s face so vividly. All he did was put me in a new pair of shoes every year, yet I will never forget him.