“I wasn’t in love with her. And she didn’t love me. For me the question of love was irrelevant. What I sought was the sense of being tossed about by some raging, savage force, in the midst of which lay something absolutely crucial. I had no idea what that was. But I wanted to thrust my hand right inside her body and touch it, whatever it was.”
“
After I kissed Catherine I told her to call me Jay
because I wanted her to know my real name
because I wanted her to know who I really was.
She said to call her Catherine. I loved the way
she let me carry my secrets around and every now
and then, at noon or sunset, dop one on her foot.
See how heavy it is, I said, how the suffering goes on
after the suffering is over. I loved the way
she listened without listening when I couldn’t change.
I loved the way she changed before the dark did,
the woman inside of her stepping out of her jeans.
I loved how she would curl up under the blanket
and get smaller like a shirt folding in on herself
until she was no larger than the size of her shoulder
leaning into minen. I loved how her breathing swelled
and came apart with the smell of lilacs from a garden
at the end of the street. I loved how her body shook
like a wild instrument with all this music inside it.
