My Mother Encounters Celebrities and I Misunderstand


One winter before I was born
my mother stepped into an elevator.
The silent brass doors slid
together too quickly and she toppled,
landing face-first

in Baryshnikov's striped mink coat.
She told me this when I was six
and leaping, a blizzard of tulle
and breathlessness around
her rocking chair. As I remember it,

I say now, He was rude to you.
Did Baryshnikov really push you?

Short, she says, looking over
the Sunday Style section. I didn't say rude.
I said short.

photograph by Chuck Domitrovich

1 comment:

Teri and the cats of Furrydance said...

this made me smile, that's how rumors get started.

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