her lesser known memoir. she has a very particular and magical way of seeing the world. in this one she moves from the present, to the complex world of her dreams, to the past, and back again. she lives alone in manhattan with her cats and travels for work often (she accepts invitations to give readings or hold concerts and the like) but when she is home, she frequents the same cafe, goes on long walks, and meets the occasional friend along the way. her free time abroad is spent similarly, and this is all intercut with her vivid dreams. and sometimes she dreams of the dead.
she tells stories of the other people she’s lost over the years - in addition to maplethorpe - with that unique perspective of her’s. i first read this a few months before the greatest loss i had (and still have) ever experienced would occur, and picked it up again after the fact, and again, and again, and proceeded to read my copy to the point of the book’s physical near-destruction (it is held together by scotch tape and scotch tape only).
i had a really hard time finding the good in anything after my friend passed, and the immense loss and grief patti wrote about in m train combined with the beauty she continued to see everywhere, the magic, gave me some hope.