The Day Lady Died It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and I’m walking in the park with my friend, when she said, “Did you hear about the lady?” “Lady who?” “No, the lady, the one who sang.” I knew right away, the way she said it, it’s not just the lady that died—it’s how the sun fell down and rested on the streets of New York. I went into a bar and ordered a drink, just to calm myself, when I noticed the trees turning bright, like the lady I loved, who had gotten lost in the divorce of lights. Does anyone know where she is now? Yes, they are singing still.

— Frank O’Hara

• Frank OHara