Your legacy was a face.
You were a political activist, an artist, a force of the stormy Queens streets where you grew up, tuning in to your Philco to absorb the music and the heartbeat of every era. You moved to Greenwich when you were still a child, at 17, holding only your wits and your secret of your parents' Communism with you.
And this is your legacy. A face, a body clutching on to a more important body, being looked at by important men.
I hope the things that you pursued were wonderful. But I'll never know about them now.