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That Girl

5/29/2020

Going through old letters in a box this afternoon,
I came across a picture of my younger self on a couch with a college boyfriend.
There was something strange about seeing myself so young --
Shocking actually --
That girlish face with dewy skin,
The brown hair falling down in curls on my shoulders,
The paisley dress,
The Navajo ring on my right hand,
My high school ring on the other.
That was me, I guess,
Gazing playfully into the future.
I was 21 and still a student at Johns Hopkins,
Writing my master’s thesis in Florence, Italy,
About to embark on a career as a newspaper reporter,
Hoping to make it to The New York Times
And return to Italy one day as a foreign correspondent,
Smugly assuming that I knew everything,
Confident that some handsome guy would always be there
To catch me.
Little did I know that, by the end of that year, 1981,
I would move to New York City,
Get fired from my first reporting job for insubordination,
Have my high school ring snatched off my finger
At gunpoint on a subway platform in Brooklyn,
And live to tell the tale of a thousand and one adventures
And that New York, the city I was born in,
Would become my home
And that, after all those years, I would still be that girl.

Rosalind Resnick
May 28, 2020

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Talking About The Hair Generation

5/23/2020

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These days we all seem to be talking about our hair
As if it was the Seventies and we were back in high school starring in that musical.
Before Corona, getting your hair cut or colored, styled or permed was no big deal.
Now that the salons are closed, you’ve got to have your stylist’s private number
And beg him to make a house call which he might just do if you pay him cash.
I’ve heard tales of honorable men who’ve driven 600 miles to see a barber
And an otherwise law-abiding granny who let her stylist set up shop in her backyard.
Before Corona, getting your hair done was boring and mundane, an appointment that could be postponed or even cancelled if something better came along.
But now, Post Corona, it’s become as cool as sneaking into a speakeasy at the height of Prohibition.
Bathtub gin, anyone?
I’ve decided to protest this injustice, an infringement on my right to look forever young.
Maybe I haven’t stormed the capitol building like they did in Michigan,
But I’m fighting my own one-woman war against the new normal.
Yes, I’m letting my hair grow long and gray,
The way it would have looked if I had joined a cult or lived in the 19th Century.
Sometimes I wear my hair in a ponytail or a braid,
The way I did in junior high school.
And what will happen when the City says that the salons can finally reopen?
To steal a line from Elliot Ness of the Untouchables,
I think I’ll have a drink.
Make mine a cut and color on the rocks.

Rosalind Resnick
May 22, 2020

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Eternity

5/15/2020

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The night we met
The starry sky was filled with constellations --
A bull and a crab,
The twins, the archer and the scales on high --
And you and I transported
On a magic carpet of love and earthly desire.

Now, it seems, we follow a different path,
Underground along the banks of the River Styx
Where the dark gods rule,
Walking together yet separately
In a world where human touch has disappeared
And even a chaste kiss strictly forbidden.

On this journey into darkness,
There is no certainty or expectations.
Like the philosopher wrote so long ago,
You never step in the same river twice
For, in changing, it is changed forever.

So let’s join hands, my love,
And step into the water tonight.
Let’s drift away like two wandering souls
As far as that wine-dark, metaphysical sea will take us.

Close your eyes and dream.
Do not resist the pull of time or destiny.
In the end, the Great Mother will wrap us in her sequined blanket
And carry us home to bed
For eternity.

Rosalind Resnick
May 14, 2020

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My City

5/8/2020

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Today I broke my quarantine,
Left my home and my cat
And my neighborhood --
The quiet and tranquil West Village --
That sheltered me from the viral storm
These past few months
And headed off to see
The buildings that I own in Brooklyn.

Was that the reason why I went?
It’s hard to say.
My property manager could have gone alone,
As she has done before,
And, sure, I told myself,
I have a piece of paper in my bag that says that I’m a landlord
And allows me to provide essential services to my tenants
Just in case someone stops and asks me
Why in the world I am going to Brooklyn.

But the real reason why I put on that ugly mask and those blue rubber gloves
And ran down the steps of the West 4th Street subway station before switching to a taxi
When I found out that the F train was running on the D track (no surprise there)
Was because I wanted to make sure that the city that I loved so much
Was still there, standing tall and proud,
After all the deaths and all the damage that was done.

And then, as my cab mounted the Manhattan bridge,
I saw it, New York City,
Like the Sun bursting from the sky in all its glory --
The Brooklyn Bridge, Lady Liberty, the East River
Where they shoot off the fireworks on the Fourth of July —
Just the way it was before.
And then, in Brooklyn, I saw the joggers and the riders
And the couples hand in hand walking their dogs
And the people squeezing in the door of the bagel shop
Down the street from the block where my buildings were still standing
And the FedEx trucks and the delivery guys and the bike messengers
Filling the streets just like they had before.

And suddenly my heart leapt like a happy dolphin
And I knew in an instant that the apocalypse was over
And that the city that I love so much,
The city that even in its darkest hour is the envy of all the world,
The city of strivers, of dreamers, of survivors,
My city -- New York City -- was still alive
And always would be.

Rosalind Resnick
May 7, 2020

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The Other Side of the Mirror

5/1/2020

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On the other side of the mirror
You used to wait for me
As my train pulled into Santa Maria Novella station.
Tired and hungry but so happy to see you,
I would kiss your sweet lips as I melted into your arms
And then we’d grab a pizza and check into Room 411
Where our love, like magic, was renewed,
And would begin again.

Now that station, once so full of life, is empty
Except for police with sticks and masks.
There are no planes or trains
To reconnect lovers who live on opposite sides
Of that great ocean.
All that remains are the vacant buildings where people once stood and played
And lovers with cones of gelato trickling down their fingers once kissed
By the statue of the porcellino.

On the other side of the mirror,
It seemed like thousands of years went by
As constellations chased each other across the universe
And every moment that we spent together
Was like a magic lozenge sweet with rays of setting sun.

On this side of the mirror,
There is no magic or fantasy.
Days move quickly and night comes before I realize that morning has already departed
And the only sounds are the shrieks of ambulances taking the sick away
And the silence of quarantines
That imprison beating hearts
And turn hot tears of separation
To cold and dusty memories
On the other side of the mirror
Where all has been forgotten.

Rosalind Resnick
April 30, 2020

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That Girl

Talking About The Hair Generation

Eternity

My City

The Other Side of the Mirror

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