Trish Saunders

ONCE, IN MANHATTAN

Deep into 23rd Street in 67, she sees thin people half-maddened with cold 

pause in the middle of cursing the weather

to gaze upon a woman even thinner than they, lugging cheap plaid 

suitcases with skinny arms, tender skinny hairless arms,

under a snow-white shirt

and flakes falling on her black pony’s mane.  

And what city doesn’t love a young artist? 

Manhattan beneath a grey sky 

and sidewalks strewn with art

everything so cheap, so right there --  

no need to steal anything

just one painting, Patti,

will get you a room at the Chelsea, 

only think of it!

a room in the hotel for a year.