Ah Nepenthe, named for mythic nepenthe,
a drug for dispelling grief and misery—
I was introduced to this word
when I drove past Carmel on Highway 1
and stopped at the famous place once
owned by Orson Welles when he was married
to Rita Hayworth. Long ago frequented by
superstars, now just average tourists.
The restaurant’s terrace overlooked
the ragged grandeur of the Big Sur coast.
I was by myself and felt shy walking past the tables
of elegant, possibly eminent, people.
I devoured an “Ambrosiaburger,”
and buoyed by optimism, went downstairs
to the chic giftshop where I got lost
in the displays of amethyst earrings,
pastel silk blouses, and pashmina shawls.
Finally, I emerged with marked-down pajamas
made of organic cotton, printed with cabbage roses
in bright shades of red, green, yellow, orange and blue.
Frida Kahlo colors, like a balm I would apply
in the evening as a sort of armor
against the day’s bad news and sorrows.
At night, I changed into a woman
who hovered above molten insomnia.