at athe Cloisters: other ways to be buried

I'm glad we walked through the park to the museum instead of waiting for the bus. I'm glad it was snowing and that I had my red hat to cover my hair. The flakes landing like bright silent moths on our coated shoulders. The snow was so thick, there was a blank where the river was, a vague grey hip for the opposite shore. I have to remember to develop those pictures we took in the archway. I tried so hard to love New York.

What a beautiful museum. yes, like Italy. I love the Romanesque, early Renaissance more than other things. Bishops and soldiers buried in the floor of the chapel, thin cordons around them. If you hit the ropes, you'd pitch over them, break your face on the other side of the effigy (preferable to chipping the relic). There weren't any cordons in Santa Croce, and I walked all over the dignified Italian departed. Almost fell flat, tripped by the tip of a marble nose.

It isn't a bad way to be buried. Quiet grave faces, folded hands and pointed toes. I'd have them put me under the stairs in the Newfields house, carve my slab out of wood that matched the floorboards. I'd do that, if anyone would let me: be an old woman sleeping forever in her favorite floor.