mmmmmccviii

Some Places I’d Still Love to Go (Again)

I was just thinking, with regard to the
“Again,” of Glen Ellen, of Sonoma, to
walk Sonoma Square, and tour the
Benziger Family Winery again.  That’d

be fun.  It always was.  As for places I’ve
never been, which are places I was first
thinking about, there’s Spain.  Barcelona.
Especially since it turned out I enjoyed

Italy as much as I did (I was very surprised).
And I want to go to Thailand, to Cambodia,
that’s a pretty big spread.  I’d stick to the
city in Thailand, much as I could (Bangkok,

surely?), but away from the city in Cambodia
(Angkor Wat).  I miss Los Angeles.  But found
San Diego a bit boring.  I’d go back to South
America, beyond Lima.  Uruguay, perhaps.

I’ve always told myself I’d love to go to
Mexico City.  I love a place where it’s so
easy to get lost.  I’m assuming Hong Kong is
nothing like it was when I was there before,

but Tokyo, that’s a teeming city.  Or maybe
mainland China.  I’ve always wanted to go to
Budapest.  I’d go again and again back to
Montreal.  And Vancouver.  I really could

keep going.  The more I think about it,
the places I’d love to see multiply until
it begins to be a little bit exhausting
thinking about all of the places I want to visit

for the first time, or see again.

mmmmmccvii

Way to Raise the Lowest Common Denominator

I turn the page and it’s the poem
“The Day Lady Died” by Frank O’Hara.
Which isn’t actually that surprising since
the page I turn is in The Selected Poems
of Frank O’Hara.  And I’ve mostly been
trying not to be morbid, been trying to
maintain a positive sense of self and a
hefty sense of humor with what I’m
thinking, what I’m watching and
what I’m writing this morning.
But how not to delve into the
maudlin or the morbid, me?
Is this just today?  Is it
lately, I wonder?  Have I
been this way always?  But
my first thought is my mother
just died, and she was a lady.  And
this gets me to thinking about my mom,
who recently passed.  I’ve yet to begin
reading the poem, have decided to save
it for a while (yes, I’ve read this one before,
why did I suddenly feel you judging me?), but
as my eyes come up from the page, I see this
portion of a line about halfway down the page,
“(first name Linda I once heard)” – and I think
that perhaps I’ve been this way always, as I am
suddenly reveling in the fact that my mother,
who just recently passed away, was named
Linda.