day 30: a list of things to which i wave my handkerchief
- Polished-heart-shaped stone
- Guilt, in the form of bottomless ice water
- The hypothermia that goes with the above
Sentence fragments no wait, keep those
- Chicken McNuggets
- My feathers
- Looking over my shoulder for the sound of hooves on pavement
- Worrying about you
- Worrying about the stretch marks on the insides of my thighs
- Am I good in bed?
- No abandon
- I can’t kiss you because you’ll think I love you and that would scare you away
- Flat pillows
- Tonight’s Boxer weather, thank you for lingering
- My attachment to my longer hair
- Laying out my veins and capillaries, end to end, just to see if there was something I missed when I first saw you on Saturday
- hanging on
- Taking ten extra minutes at lunch
Planning around your possible next visit fuck it
day 29: won’t pull
You must have fallen from some high twig,
a helicopter seed that cozied up to the soil.
You are a tree. / You are a beech tree.
You shade my window from extraneous sun.
Was that you dancing in the wind? / Was that you filtering out the summer moonlight?
Speaking of the moonlight,
the soft, tasty beams on our backs
remind me that I am looking out into the dark.
I look up / I point out a shooting star,
but as close to the ceiling as you are,
by the time you follow my finger,
it has landed and set fire to a field / far away.
I hear the cheatgrass wailing in the distance
as you turn to see my face,
the arches soaking up the pale paint / I imagine you do, at least
Was that you rustling with your dried leaves? / Was that you?
You are a tree. I am a fruit.
I am a piece of fruit that regrows its skin every time someone slices at me.
I had someone turn me over in their hands yesterday
and read the lines—
in my past, I had a destiny.
Somewhere along there, I made a decision—
and changed course.
The diamonds mean learning opportunities.
Some of the lines don’t cross,
and something in there, she said,
means that I am loved by many people,
more than I think.
Don’t go giving me radical ideas, I said,
before rolling off the counter and into the grass.
Does it hurt to walk so nimbly with root-feet?
Are you tired, yet?
Can you pick me up?
We’ll decide on a time / later.
day 28: in the good news and the bad
You were the sleep that I spent ten minutes rubbing out of my tear ducts this morning in vain attempts to get out of bed.
You were the rocky start.
You were in the reflection that showed me unwashed hair and red acne and faint freckles.
You were in the fourth, never occupied-chair at our table at breakfast, since my brother usually occupies the third whenever he’s home.
You were in the blips of radio silence as my mother and I listened to the weather and news over her coffee and book and my cereal.
You were in the exultation of the high seven-twenty-five sun as I powered over to the school.
You were lingering in the breaths of tired sighs from teachers on a Monday morning.
I saw your name in the subject line of the one email I received today.
I ate lunch with you in silence while reading the 2013 Humana Festival collection.
You were in Oscar’s hyperactive smile and Savannah’s giggles, even though neither of us want children.
I know that you aren’t looking to drop anchor anywhere right now.
I’m not either. Really. At least, that’s what I know is good for me, for the forseeable future.
But today I dropped off a package in the wrong dropbox,
bought a belated birthday card for a woman who’s like a second mother to me,
and heard that someone I know was arrested for verbally and physically abusing his two-month old son;
And I know I don’t want children,
And I know I want New York and Louisville,
And I know I love my mother,
And I know the sky today caused irreparable damage to my heartstrings because it was so blue,
And I know we really barely know each other but
For the first time since I recognized
the bloom that bloomed in my cavity of a torso
when I met you—
That blue sky
that sun heat
standing on Saddle Rock
a scream that tears my throat
a beat, a pause—
these arms to fold
around this torso
and collapse against your chest
I want to be
to cry against your shirt
and I want those turnstall arms
and I want your hand on the back of my head
I want your protection.
I want to cry with you there.
I have never actually wanted to be
as vulnerable around someone I want
as I want in this moment.
You’re definitely different.
day 27: signals upstairs
We are going to be okay NO
I am going to be okay.
So are you.
You are okay.
You are great.
Look, we’re both fine.
That’s all this world needs.
Obviously we’d be great,
but that’s not for me to decide.
You swing the hammer—
I’m only holding the nail in place.
day 26: five minutes
I drove around and found corners of this town from which I’d never cleaned the cobwebs.
I drove around and found corners of this town I’d never even seen before.
I got pink on my chest and
saw you for five minutes.
You said you looked for me.
I missed your call.
I drove up Ninth on my way to
my old stomping grounds and it was seriously
the most beautiful
sun was shining over castle rock
and all the lightweight, fluffy seeds
from some unknown tree
were floating and flying at my windshield
I almost cried because it was straight out of my head, this moving picture
I sat in the parking lot by myself and waited for your call,
because I didn’t want to go home.
I stared at the lawn—
where I once had my first film kiss,
now stands a new music and arts building for the college—
the light hit the birch and pine just on the top of the foliage
and I filmed it
and sang ‘Guest Room’ to myself.
The other night I filmed the rainy street,
sunset, patchy gray sky,
and sang it to sleep with ‘Pink Rabbits.’
Maybe this will be a new thing for me.
We were playing tag and you’re still it.
I will stay up all night waiting for ‘Humiliation’ to ring through my phone and for your name to show up.
day 25: faire breeze tomorrow
day 24: willing for a clear face for saturday
There’s a pile of unfolded sheets in the middle of my bed / two days cold from the dryer / the sea-blue and dark teal ocean walls of my room / are tinged with Boxer glow / and every song I hear now / I finally understand / I feel like doing nothing / but lying on the unmade sheets on an already made bed / and there is the scene you enter / Your voice is liquid something and I get inebriated just listening to you / Listening to you / laugh / is like watching the sun trying to peak through overcast canopies / and seeing a murmuration of starlings fly across the fuzzed gray glow / Your tattoo on my heart reads / “Nothing is ever sure / What is absolute? / Only a vodka” / but there’s that rockabilly rose all the same / When you say my name I come running / and trip over my own feet / and skin my palms / bandages never felt so soothing / You sweep me off my feet like a low-leveled helicopter kick / I see stars when I’m around you / stars that are falling too fast / good-bye dinosaurs / When I walk over to you / and take you in my vision / I feel breathless / like someone who bit off more than they could chew and signed up for a 10k and never trained for it but had to finish it for a bet / I would push the day sky back for you / at only your mention of how much you love moonlight / I see you / and raise you / raise me? / You make me feel like a walking cliché / and all myself / at the same time / and I’m okay with that /
day 23 bonus! original text: “Skipkoma”
Sér ei skáldið skip á öldu
skautum búið að landi snúa?
er ei þys við þorskakasir?
þóttast ekki búðadróttir?
"Harður byr að hafnavörum
húna- rekur -jóinn lúna,
glatt er lið á götustéttum,
glápa sperrtir búðaslápar.”
day 23: skip coma
Sir, I scalded, skip all to
scoutin’ breathe a’ the land o’ snow
or I, this, with Thor’s calculator?
Thought, is’t equ’lly but a drought tear?
"Harder beer a’ the—have no forum
Who nah—raker—ya in, loon, ah,
Glad to litho- goat us stay, um,
Clap a spare tear but a slopper.
day 22: hello, shadow
Are you my shadow?
Well, I’m your shadow too!
Let’s go outside
And do all of the
Things that shadows do!
Let’s hide, let’s seek,
Behind these trees,
We’ll never know we’re there!
Let’s trick our eyes
With heatwaves, and
Go dancing in the air!
We’ll follow other
Shadows to the
Park to play a game
We’ll see that though
We’re different lengths,
All shadows sound the same.
I’m glad to have you
By my side,
My shadow; —I am too!
How do other
Without good friends like you?