The clothes, the food, the nickel-coated iron
flower tables, the glass-and-wood-fluted doorknobbut most of all the baby girls holdingchicks in one arm and grapes in the otherjust before the murder of the Gypsiesunder Tiso the priest, Slovak, Roman Catholic,no cousin to Andy, he Carpatho-Russianor most of all Peter Oresick, he of Ford City,he of Highland Park and East LibertyCarpatho-Russian too, or just Ruthenian,me staring at a coconut tree, I swear it,listening late on a Saturday afternoona few weeks before my 88th toairplane after airplane and reading the trailersby the underwater lights of yon organ-shapedsquid-squirming blue and land-lost swimming poolthe noise a kind of roar when they got closeI’m watching from the fifth floor up, Warholeanhere and there oh mostly on the elevator butcertainly by the pool, his European relativesbasking under his…
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The New Yorker (Digital) - 1 Issue, Oct-06-14