City of memoryMarch 20, 2017
I have been imagining the walks I’ll take when I return to my hometown. I imagine wandering down Connecticut Avenue, around Roosevelt Island. I have been visualizing the approach to National. I have checked to make sure a few favorite restaurants are still open.
Nothing has changed, a friend says. People still have to get up and go to work.
But I know I’m conjuring a memory, flimsy and slippery.
It’s Trump Country now, my husband says, and I sigh, knowing that the city I’ll recognize on the surface has been marred by darkly-cast stones.