April 2024 Tribute for Molly

New Work 1

Fractions are two broken haves of a Unicorn Octopus –

Molly in the Coal Yard

For Molly Fitch

Crestfallen sidekick in an old cafe
Never slept with a dream before he had to go away
There’s a bell in the tower, Uncle Ray bought a round
Don’t worry ’bout the army in the cold, cold ground

-Tom Waits

Years ago after it was official I had outgrown my beloved dive

I was a homeless drunk until my future daughter-in-law

Took me down to the corner of 1^st avenue and 6^th street

Saying I’ve got something for your birthday as we walked into the Coal Yard.

And there it was-dim/shadowy huge horseshoe shaped bar

It was happy hour and she bought a round which included Miller High life

In Tall Boy Bowling alleys bottles for 4 Bucks

And I knew I was in my new Dive Bar when I went out to the small enclosed

Courtyard to have a smoke a there was this 20-foot image of a Steam Engine

Painted on the back brick wall by Billy the Artist who lived on 7^th street across

From McSorleys

So every time I was in town of course I made a Bee-line down to the Lower

East side after getting off the train to slug a few High Life’s

Quickly fell into a routine- Grab a seat bar-stool on one of the ends of the

Horseshoe curve (that I was told Molly designed) -Get out my notebook- politely order a Cold one sitting

In front of the big glass window over looking 1^st Avenue- and man ?

It was heaven.

Gradually over the next few months established myself as a semi-regular

And started to get to know the Bartenders

Sebastian- Erin- Jessica- Danelle-Claire-Ashely- Elaine- Joan- Lindsay- Aaron-Nick-Evert & Tyler

On evening after staying longer than I usually did (one to many last ones) Shoved off towards the L

To Brooklyn to see my son I got about 2 blocks out and I heard a voice calling

After me- Hey Mister- you forgot your notebook.

It was Erin breathlessly chasing my sorry sodden ass to give it back to me.

Man I Kinda knew I was in/had been adopted.

Then one night I took notice of a distinct presence on the other side of the bar

Intently sizing me up and then another Miller was placed in front of me

And Erin said- This one’s on the Boss-

I looked up and tipped my cap at Molly grinned broadly at me nodding

In recognition.

Once in the middle of a Winter Sunday afternoon the bar awash in sunlight

Molly sat down next to me and we had a long conversation that started

With her saying- so you’re the writer or something-

Or something I smiled back and we laughed

As I read her Nomo’s poem by Tennessee Williams from Night of the Iguana

Sometime while night obscures the tree
The zenith of its life will be
Gone past forever, and from thence
A second history will commence.

An intercourse not well designed
For beings of a golden kind
Whose native green must arch above
The earth’s obscene, corrupting love.

She was delighted and exclaimed I always knew you were a good poet-

I tried to explain hey Molly but I didn’t write that. She would hear none it

And ordered us shots .Molly always believed in the best about her patrons

Of Course the ensuing years of the Plague made me absent

For a couple of years- when at last I made it back there

I walked in & ordered up and of course Claire was still there

And I asked her how Molly was-

She lowered her eyes and said very gently to me

Sorry Molly is dead- COVID got her-

We shared a silence for moment then Claire

told me wait a minute I have something for you from the service

And dug under the bar top fished out a small purple mesh draw string

Screen pouch that contained inside a guitar pick- a tiny push

Back pin button from the International Bar a couple of Purple Mimosa

Seeds wrapped in plastic and a book mark with Molly’s picture on the front and these Words written on the backside I duuno about you- I hear Molly’s voice here

After glow-

I’d like the memory of me

To be happy one

I’d like to leave an afterglow

Of smiles when the day is done

I’d like to leave an echo whispering softly

Down the ways of happy times and laughing

Times and bright and sunny days

I’d like the tears of those who grieve to dry

Before the sun of happy memories that

I leave behind when the day is done Vincent Quatroche