i have lived
in the waldorf-astoria
twice.
the first time,
i was eighteen.
i stayed for three days
and two nights
on a class trip.
our school booked us
four to a room.
you slept on the floor
in a sleeping bag.
we felt glamorous.
on the second day,
my parents called
to tell me
my grandfather died.
did you ever go back?
i did,
once,
at nineteen.
i stayed for three days
and two nights
with my parents.
they booked us
a suite
for their anniversary.
we felt glamorous.
on the first day,
my boyfriend called
to tell me
we were breaking up.
i imagine you going back,
at age 30, beautiful and successful
and unimaginably wealthy.
in this version,
i am dead.
in this version,
you are glamorous.
in this version,
you don’t sleep on the floor any more,
but you keep a gun under your pillow.