I wake up dreaming, undress myself to go out into the world. Cars are being driven in the ditches; the roads are all empty. On the sidewalks, dogs are walking their owners on a short leash, and a thoughtful bee just returned pollen to a weed. I try to get my boyfriend to look outside … Continue reading I Wake Up Dreaming, Undress Myself
A slight shiver of the trees is considered by windologists as a mourning, not to be confused with a vibrant tousle of a leaf, which is, not surprisingly, its opposite: joy. A bird, flying just below gale-force winds is persistence. Although, any bird flying above such winds is called, well, I’m not sure there’s a … Continue reading How to Translate the Wind
Honey-flavored lozenges coating our throats, you split a mango in the tree shade by the lemonade stand, fleshing out the football shaped seed. Juices running down our chins, you begin a burial ceremony for all the mango seeds we have eaten since June — lumps of fresh dirt — little graves — as if all … Continue reading A Honey Summer Fruit Promise
Unless you’re counting those few days in January — and also that time in June. I want to hold out my hand to everyone who needs it. I know some good people who spent so much time in the dark, they became scared of the light. Holy are the things we put inside ourselves, always … Continue reading 365 Days Sober
Once, when I was a child, my family dog picked up a kitten in its mouth, punctured a hole in its neck and it choked on its own blood. I think I cried for weeks. I think I tried to pry the dog’s jaws open. I think I came running into the kitchen, limp corpse … Continue reading A Conversation With My Therapist
You thought someone was living inside the walls, laughing at you. Staring at you. Talking about you. You tore at your face until craters bled. Kept telling me something was hiding underneath your skin, crawling with fleas. When I woke up, found your side of the bed empty/cold, I thought I would discover your body … Continue reading Alex, The Addict
Inside my dream, a dream. A cat sunning itself in the bay window. A small party. Silk, satin, some other materials. There are strangers who have loved me. There are lovers who have left me. I have written tirelessly about both. Fast traffic. Wet snow. The sound of acrylic nails tapping on a wooden bar-top … Continue reading Listen, I Need To Tell You Something