Tag Archives: 1979

selective memories

Posted on March 18, 2010 by the jodi

I have a bum leg. Actually, it’s a bum foot. A motorcycle accident in  ’79 banged up my right side pretty good. 1979 was not a year of a lot of doctors or self care for the jodi. It got better, but now and then it still acts up. My foot swells, or I can’t feel it at all, or I stop being able to anticipate where the ground is going to be on that side when I walk. It … Continue reading →

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

summer in the city

Posted on June 1, 2009 by the jodi

I walked through the new Washington Square Park, expecting to be disappointed, or at least annoyed, but it was lovely. The fountain is working, the landscaping inviting. I spent an hour listening to musicians, watching kids playing in the fountain or with their families, hearing a hundred languages from tourists passing through. The park was packed with white people. When I say white people, apparently I mean white bread– well dressed, clean, educated and wholesome. So even brown folks are white … Continue reading →

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

that was then: 1979

Posted on April 4, 2009 by the jodi

I open my eyes to a greasy tin ceiling & the smell of oil and gasoline. I’m on the floor, just a thin bare mattress between me and the cold cement. Cogs & gears & metal greasy things I can’t name litter the floor around me. It’s the itching that wakes me. My arms, my legs, my thighs, my crotch. I scratch till I bleed. I scratch some more. From where I lay I can just make out the corner of … Continue reading →

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , | Leave a comment