Tuesday, December 14, 2010

I thought about the way your skin would look when you finally get old.
I'll kiss the aging spots and tug at the looseness of your ears. We
will brown with sun and time, marked across our faces, indications of
surprises and let downs.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

From the ocean depths of burnt edged journals

He said one night that he felt so far
away from me even though I was
right beside him in his bed. With
clothes on, hands feeling wet
faces, wet with tears, sweat,
snot and gasps of trying
to understand the why.
Was it something I did
he asked.
What can I change, he wanted to know.
I just need time. I know that's a lie.

Talking to you, like a distant memory
with nothing to say except about the weather
or class or
we should do lunch,

I remember you
how you said you loved me more
than the wildflowers.

October 2004

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

In my journals, you never left.

Monday, November 8, 2010

I am submerged in, I am
not a part of. Everywhere I swim
it is there and away from my body.
Surrounded and not included. Pressured
eyes see through the bright lights in the kitchen.
Youre standing there, kneading dough. Pinching
the edges and everyone always asking questions
and getting ready. Our business laying flat on the counter
for everyone to read. Airing out our issues, conflicts in
front of the refrigerator.

I was going to write you today. A letter;
telling you I had unnecessarily pinned you
with faults of mine. That you were a diamond
for putting up with it all. That I could one day, live
like you like to live life. With all everything. Believing
everyday that this is truly the most beautiful.

My body feels inferior most of the day and despite
my education, my brain falls victim to the need for
hair dye and bone crushing diets. carrots.

But she is not. She is here. Annoyed that wine glasses
get broken. Hair in the drain. Filling the dishwasher.
No full length mirror or money for professionals. Hunched
and crying into her keyboard. She won't blame you if you walk away.
She can't stand her own self sometimes.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

She imagined she carried him out of the woods with a nation's strength. She hadn't seen it before, but he had been a musician, she could tell from the dents on the underneath of his fingers, strumming there like he was alive.
Its so good to have you home, baby girl.
You too, Daddy.
And, then.
Car got gas?
Yes.
Need any road money?
I think I'm alright.
But he would hand her two twenties folded up or sometimes she'd find them stuffed in the pockets of her purse. Now that she moved, he mailed her checks all wrapped in the same yellow paper and sometimes bearing the highlighter message, "Love ya!!".
She saved these duplicated notes and stuck them in places as bookmarks or in the container that held the bills.

Ezra floated on the stage. She was admired. They wanted to be her, sleep with her, make her breakfast and drive her around. Here, she had curls in her hair, her skin was flawless; she wore silk. She moved to one end of the stage and delivered a line. Her curls shook. Then the note beginning the opening song- a jazz number. She looked good in skin tight clothing, her stomach flat in the shadow.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

The man was being hunted. He will capture is own, reflection in the pulsating white of their incisors.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

That all the things I’ve done, once vivid with color and light are all mushed together in the dull clay ball that is my memory.