I spent the day painting
a table that I had found in
front of a cathedral one
Saturday afternoon which
I then somehow managed
to move a few blocks (about
a quarter of a block at a time)
until I reached a direct bus,
hauled it and myself into it
and held onto it for dear life
as the bus careened the streets
of San Francisco until it deposited
me and that heavy table directly
in front of the Asian Art Museum,
which is across 8th Street from
the Civic Center, but which also,
oh so fortunately, happens to
be directly across McAllister
Street from The Abigail, as well.
And The Abigail is is where I have
lived now for nearly a year. I painted
the table the same acrylic color,
chrome orange, that I had just a
few months ago painted the much
smaller more decorative table that
I had found one afternoon lighting
up a Hayes Valley sidewalk, which
I also grabbed and brought to the
apartment into which I had quite
chrome orange, that I had just a
few months ago painted the much
smaller more decorative table that
I had found one afternoon lighting
up a Hayes Valley sidewalk, which
I also grabbed and brought to the
apartment into which I had quite
recently turned into my home. Now
my home has matching orange (al
most red) tables beside my bed
which I, also just this afternoon,
made fresh with linens patterned
with white flowers embedded with
which I, also just this afternoon,
made fresh with linens patterned
with white flowers embedded with
in a lilac background. And it is
springtime in San Francisco.
Especially so in the lovely and
now more vivid apartment in
which I have lived now for
nearly a year.
