this morning,
when I woke up, not for real but that first, still-drunk awaking that arrives when the light comes in and lasts for about as long as a dream, I saw a bird through the window.
I didn’t have my glasses—they were on my boyfriend’s desk; I was sleeping at his apartment—and my first thought, looking at the bird, was: I should get up and get my glasses, so I can see what kind of bird this is, so if I want to use this moment in an essay later, then I can name it.
The bird was perched in a tree. I cannot tell you now what color it was, or even how big it was, because as I lay there, looking at the sleeping back of my favorite person—and maybe it was because I was still a little drunk and wobbly, or maybe it was because he was sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake him, or maybe it was because of some other, secret reason still unknown to me—I thought about getting up and then I said to myself, maybe it’s better to let some things remain a mystery. Maybe I can allow myself that this year.
I watched the bird for a while, what little of it I could discern, and I tossed around in bed for a while, trying to figure out how to get back to sleep again. The bird flew away, and eventually I did. When I woke up again, it was past noon, and I was so happy to be in the arms of the person I love.
Two interpretations: There are many things unknown to me, and I’ve learned that it’s nice to leave some things unknown to others. Or, alternatively, perhaps I will learn to allow myself the perspective I have, limited though it can be.
Or maybe I’m just finding another way to incorporate an animal into an essay.
Short letter this time around. Happy New Year, everyone. I hope you’re all safe and warm tonight.
xo
LP
1: There are two more weeks to go see the Vija Celmins show at the Met Breuer. You can read my thoughts on it at The Nation.
2: My final Paris Review column came out at some point in December. It’s about figure drawing, figurative sculpture, and using history to render the present.
3: If you’re in New York City, I’m reading at the Bronx Museum on Saturday, 3pm, in programming for the Alvin Baltrop show. Here’s more information in case you’d like to attend.
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Hi, you’re reading intimacies, a relaunch of the original, occasional diary letter I sent out from 2016-2018. You’re getting this email because you were previously subscribed to its first iteration, and you got those emails because you were probably subscribed to Cum Shots, my previous letter at Nerve. If you liked this letter, please click the heart. Thank you for reading. I really appreciate you.