usa / you

To all you USA people who blessed us this summer -

so rich, so bountiful, such deep roots -

you were food for the soul.

In Northern Minnesota...

in Minneapolis...

in Brooklyn...

in Manhattan...

in Indiana...

in Atlantic City...

in Beacon...

in the car...

on skype...

and on our walk along the Mississippi that wasn't nearly long enough. And at a cafe on Vanderbilt. At the bike shop, at the wine shop, on the east side, and on the front stoop the night you picked up the chair.

Sitting at your kitchen counter pebbled with rice. Packing the beach towels before the storm rolled in over the ocean -- then, weeks later, rushing to pay the bill as the lightning storm threatened over the roofbar in the midwest.

On Chambers Street, on 65th street, on 29th Street, in Dumbo, at the kiddie playground in Prospect Park, and on 19th Street where you drank hot chocolate as thick as batter and told me about the Indian dancer you once saw performing a traditional dance just down the street. It was a dance that required the dancer to take the evil goddess's spirit into her body and release it, you tell me, and she had do it three times before the dance could come to an end.