Self Portrait Smiley Pants

Self Portrait Smiley Under Pants

Yesterday I bought five pairs of panties from a store that said: “No Return of Underwear.” Not one fit.

Today I bought three pairs of panties form a store with a sign that said: “No Return of Underwear. No Arguments.” They don’t fit, but one has a nice message.

Today I looked at myself naked.

There are long, hair-thin red lines across my body: arms, breasts, belly. They are slightly raised like a fresh tattoo. Where have they come from? I’ve been touched by something so light I didn’t feel its arrival. In my bed? In the store? At the dentists’? Or is it here on Canal Street penetrating through windows tightly closed to keep out the heat of the city. In this air conditioned home, am I living in a haunted apartment? Or did Ma B the curious ghost in Pukerua Bay follow me to New York from New Zealand? The air conditioner is old. Is it the same one that sat in the window prior to 9/11? If so, then I am living with many ghosts trapped in this city where the living won’t let them go.