Monday, March 17, 2008

I watched my hands pass the dollar bill to her hands, knowing that within the past ten hours they had been the panties of a stripper.

Friday, March 14, 2008

listen to how smart you are
I think that you and I are like untapped reservoirs of liquid plunging deep into the earth. Sometimes we swim in them, have tremendous fun and ruin their beauty; other times we sit calmly on the shore, basking in the sunlight that is admiration.
I'm going to ride this wave until it runs out, either into a warm, wet cove made of skin, eyes, and brain, or to an early grave. Either way, you're going to hold my hand right? You're going to use that cosmic arm of yours and stretch it across the heavens towards mine, and we're going to clench hands (and they will never get sweaty, hot, or uncomfortable), and hold onto each other, even as we act in our normal lives as if the other doesn't exist.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Forty million gallons of water fell from the sky that day. I can remember being on campus in Galway, walking to lunch with friends when the wetness came. Someone had tipped the universe’s water bucket over. I was thankful to have a rain jacket, but it didn’t do much to shield my legs, feet and soon, head, from all the water. I decided in that instant I would take off and run down the street to jump in puddles and catch rain drops. Mascara was running down my face when I remembered you back at home.

Monday, March 3, 2008

now that you have left
unused lip gloss and powder
misplaced books and cat hair crowd your room
you are still here
what a beautiful way to see her again,
through the eyes of those who loved her.