Wednesday, December 19, 2012
"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on this earth. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you have tasted as many as you could."
Saturday, December 8, 2012
I've got a heavy bookshelf and a soft velvet sitting chair.
I can no longer fit my belongings in the back of my car.
And if I could, I don't think I'd get very far.
I've learned that I've got some needs of my own
Needs I'm not fit to run away from anymore.
And if I was, I don't think I'd get very far.
Since I can no longer give everything away,
I suppose it'd be best to stay.
I've got a bedroom with large windows.
A room for thinking or refusing to think.
I've got houseplants and a good deal of what I need.
Surely there is greener grass beyond the next stretch of highway.
But since I can no longer give everything away,
I suppose it'd be best to stay.
I've got houseplants and a rooting feeling.
Soft velvet that begs me to sit.
Cast-iron weighing me down.
So I guess I'll be seeing what it's like to stick around.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Rising up from the toes
it boils in the belly
into a firmament of fierceness.
It's a everything-is-wrong-and-I-have-been-cheated
It's a scream-in-the-middle-of-the-woods-so-nobody-can-hear
And it's a scream-in-the-middle-of-the-subway-car-so-everyone-can-hear
It's a feeling of having crossed
too many streets
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
we breathe out. It must blend in with all the air there is.
How could it leave? Where would it go? No--
pinballing its nosy molecules off others,
bopping along, so we’re breathing someone’s
of feral cat, of a woman who screamed in Indonesia
and a batterer who finally sobbed. I like to think
like on a cruise for singles who nudge shoulders with strangers
as they crowd the rail when a humpback blows
mirror-backed calf breech. I like to think of each breath
that each of us, dead and alive, exhales from birth
later, out of other people’s mouths as opera arias and
Viva La Huelga! and I miss you—don’t go.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
the papers unwrit, the envelopes unlicked.
There are days when the dishes must stay in the sink;
the rice left to stick to the pot's bottom.
There are days when you need to put on a flannel dress and lace-up boots and go
without music, without route.
There are days the calendar must be left unread
and the quilt must stay sprawled about the bed
as you left it when waking for
this, your defiant day.
These are the days for dancing in daylight
and dreaming in waking-life.
It is a day for boots laced tight
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
You offered to drive and I let you.
I half hated myself for it.
You offered a beer and time to chat.
I half wanted to drive drowsily
to the drafty house I was staying at
I agreed to a beer with you.
I half wanted to never speak to you again.
You suggested, instead, that I come to your place...
so you could visit with me while preparing your lunch for the next day.
I half wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself.
We assembled the bike rack on the back of my car
as we had done about a hundred times before.
I half wanted to tell you that you did it wrong;
the straps weren't tight enough.
I half wanted to let your bike fall off,
halfway down Baltimore Avenue
and watch it get crushed under the trolley.
But I quietly tightened the straps instead.
We got in the car and I told you I didn't want to go to your house.
I half wanted to reach over and touch the soft, sunned skin of your arm.
Instead I told you we had nothing to talk about.
We drove on and I wondered why
we keep seeing each
I told you I would come over for tea.
I half wanted to jump out the car window.
We sat in the dimly lit kitchen of your crunchy communal house
while you chopped sweet potatoes and I chewed the mint leaves from my tea.
It was midnight.
You were making soup.
It was midnight.
I was drinking tea
in your kitchen
watching you make soup.
I wasn't sure which of us was more absurd.
We sat on the couch and spoke about the people we felt ourselves becoming.
The teacup was empty and the soup was delicious.
I half noticed your eyes half closing.
It was time to go.
I asked you to walk me to my car.
I was half hobbling from the blisters on my feet.
You offered me a piggyback ride.
I half believed you wouldn't make it halfway down the block.
But you carried me the whole way.
We held each other in goodbye.
I half wanted to hold you like that forever.
And I was half happy to let you go.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
como pasan las horas
e s p a c i o
de los minutos
e s t i r a d o s
por los segundos.
Aqui donde el sol hace el amor con el mar
se puede sentir
el aire pesado
con la humidad y el olor de la copulacion.
Hay que pasar el tiempo
como pasan las olas
por la arena
Monday, April 30, 2012
You slid right through my fingers
right through my lips
like words never spoken
between 4am bathroom trips and
bare-assed bathroom tile sits
Failing to recover
the clots of you that sank
beyond the curve of the toilet drain.
Your blood in mine stained
the blankets and sheets
streaks of loss marked my thighs
dried up cries became empty sighs
an empty womb and a wound
that will reopen month after month
I sat staring out the window
for a long long time
as the soft white snow
En un momento
cae el sol de mi cielo.
En otro minuto
subo a volar.
En el cielo tan oscuro
vuelo con mis propias alas
en el cielo mio.
Vuelo y descanso en las nubes
porque son mias tambien.
El viento viene, el viento mio,
y me agarra de las alas
y me carga a los destinos nuevos;
nuevos pero bien familiares
lugares que conozco
pero los que nunca he visto.
Acá me encuentro.
Me encuentro agradecida
por mi cielo sin sol,
por mis alas
y mi viento que me deja a volar.
Me muestran como descubrir,
el la oscuridad,
que soy la luna
la luna de mi propia cielo.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The beginning of movement
this melodic moment
between two worlds
words without syllable
some call it ‘surrender’
I say that sounds too easy
and yet not simple enough.
‘Suspension’ seems somehow more appropriate
or perhaps ‘morning prayer’ will do.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Such senseless states
Tending us toward
and teeter-tottering tendancies
To those blessed accursed ones...twos... seven thousands
Bound beyond margins becoming
The spines of hard backed
This is for those who see
Whose knees bounce
Keeping time with
Of their mind
Let these lines be an ode
Whose hands and hearts
Make the beauty we only dream about
Whose lives are like
and its under appreciated honesty
From those of us who
Know we've known
Only half-lives and lies
We thank you.