I dreamed there was a leak, a corner of the wallpaper, the green leaves stained and blistered, the paint cracked and curled. When I awoke, I thought it was real, the way it was real when she died and every morning I awoke to the same weight on my body, unfurled along its length, as … Continue reading →

The porter runs over to ask if I want him to take my photo with Marilyn Monroe, J. Seward Johnson’s life-sized statue in the Washington, DC hotel lobby. Marilyn, the skirt of her white halter dress lifted by a blast from a subway grate, a scene from The Seven Year Itch, shot two weeks before her … Continue reading →