Tomorrow and Tomorrow

by Tom Sweterlitsch

The Georgian.

We had one of my aunt’s wood-block prints of the White Rabbit in the foyer

Layering,

Layering,

Tots and Tweeds,

Layering,

Layering,

Facecrawlers,

they’ve reduced her to the essence of what the viewing public will click on and trend.

rating her fuckability based on crime scene photographs.

taking her to Mellon Park on Sundays for brunch, pastries and strawberries and champagne, and to the Frick in the afternoons for high tea.

you don’t want to die.

p. 32, 34

the fashion design program at the Art Institute.

a prep fantasia.

the Manchester Craftsmen’s Guild.

the house in Bloomfield where I grew up,

by the tracks

the rivers.

Phipps Conservatory,

The Georgian—Room 208.

He flips through, his Adware overlaying my poor handwriting with Verdana typeface.

‘You’re gonna carry that weight—’”

the iLux

Meopta lenses.

The Parkway East,

The Starbucks at the corner of Craig and Forbes,

archived in the City because of the Right to Remember Act

Students from the Catholic schools and Carnegie Mellon and Chatham

Hannah Massey

Across the street, the Carnegie Museum is shrouded in fog, graced with iron-black statues of angels that always reminded me of the angels of history sent to transcribe the end of time.

a Maggy London crepe de chine with indigo and gold.

Reservations at the Union Grill up the street.

I remember feeling hopelessly out of my depth, unable to contribute to the conversation, really, beyond a dirty joke here and there and some talk about a poet I’d been reading that no one else had heard of.

Impressed with Theresa—how quick she was, how she carried the conversation. I remember she chatted about sustainable horticulture and a set of adult classes she’d received grant funding to offer at the Conservatory—a community garden projec...