BY THE GRAVE OF KITTY HERMANOVA (1913-1939) NEW JEWISH CEMETERY, PRAGUE Peter Orner Don't think I don't still think of you in that black dress, Kitty. Wasn't it sleeveless? Kitty Hermanova. The way you swooned into rooms. The way women despised you and wanted to be you. Isn't it always like that? We love what we despise. Before, Kitty. Before, before. For once, I want to talk about before. That night at the Count's party when you whispered in my ear how much you loved to love fools. Hence, you said, I was irresistible. The Count's chamber was full of armor and carcasses. Remember our flailing clothes? I asked you what the Count was a Count of, and you said, he was a nothing but a banker's son in masquerade. Leave your socks on, you said. I never like to see a man's feet. When we were done you tossed my suit pants out the window and went back to the party. Left me up there in my socks. I stood there in the dark after your gown waved good-bye. (You yourself left without word or gesture.) The candle burned down, the wick swallowed by a puddle of wax. I went to the window and looked at my pants spread on the ground like the crumpled legs of a ghost too exhausted to haunt. Kitty Hermanova you weren't beautiful, not even close, but when did that ever matter? You were once described by an enemy as having lips like a platypus. And you said yourself you never met a mirror you liked-but that was the mirror's problem. Here I am digging uselessly in this dirt by your name. You know I can't help being futile. If futility is a form of extreme foolishness than this glump wins again. But no longer am I standing in my drawers! Look at me Kitty. I'm an American! Rich! And you. You? Forgive me. Forgive me for seeing in this crumbled dirt only the old line of moving faces, the only way they've taught us to see you.     But even in the tired image, I see you stepping forward. Stepping forward. Kitty. You who were never hesitant a day in your life. Stepping forward.

"We love what we despise."