one of her glorious parties
in the house of red walls painted
like a bordello, communist Russia
with posters of rock bands she knows personally
with odd names and lives Tequila Jazz, B-2, Spleen,
playbills from large concert halls Irving Plazas, China Clubs,
roadies, groupies, actors, artists, poets,
in the silent hour of dawn she walks alone
down red corridors, collects the bottles,
wooden corks, turns off the lights
meet Julia in Lincoln Square
as she turns heads of passersby
with clutch purses, Berken bags, classic dresses,
tailored suits, shearlings, black-brimmed Prada glasses,
with long fingers and large rings
holding a martini glass at a the VIP lounge,
posing for photographs at the Russian embassy,
with her mother dying of cancer four states away
she waits for the train whispering
probably its easier to lose a parent
when you are a parent
spend a day with Julia’s ex-husbands
sitting on a fallen tree, passing beer and hot dogs,
the alcoholic weather anchor, the violent TV producer,
the homeless sailor with fantastical dreams,
the programmer who fell asleep and jolly guests
lay stuffed animals all around him,
she still waits for her bashert,
makes trips to the sex shops,
among rabbits and butterflies
she asks to see something
that can be used
with a gentleman friend
Julia
with a sniffling nose and visions of ice,
and sinking Kursk and toppled Twins,
law degrees, depositions, petitions,
her business lunch and 4 grey goose vodkas,
her attempt to stop
living the bordello life
and her move to New Jersey,
she stands in a bubble wrap among boxes of books
remembering how there were 4 of them,
childhood friends, all pregnant at 24
and she was the only one
who had an abortion
write a eulogy for Julia
holding her red apple in your hands
how she returned to the house of red walls
and was found dead on Labor Day,
Monday September 4th,
39 turbulent years
measuring someone else’s 70 dull ones,
her nickname Rosa Luxemburg
“the stinging rose of the revolution”
and her last voyage,
away from Irving Plazas
she travels in a wooden box to Boston
to rest next to her mother