The Visitors

7 Oct

He only comes to me at night. She does too, but they never come together. I wonder if they see each other over there. I always forget to ask when I see either of them.

When he arrives, it’s like a secret, like he forgot to tell me something. Once he drove me to a tall skinny town made of lego colored buildings along the edge of a sea. He said, we’ll get there eventually. I didn’t know where we were supposed to get to, but he was determined. He never looked into my eyes. I followed his lead. After he left, I understood he was still moving through time and space. He was more serious now, more reverent.

When she arrives, it’s as though a mistake had been made, like she wasn’t supposed to leave in the first place. I feel relieved and also, disturbed. What did happen the night she left for good? Was is my fault? There is always a feeling that this will be the actual last time she will visit. Sometimes when she visits, I see her, she sees me, but I can’t get close enough to smell her or kiss her. All I want is to kiss her.




21 Aug

The light shone in my face like a flashlight and pulled me out of sleep. I opened my eyes. It hurt.

I went to the bathroom and when I came back, I found the spotlight in the middle of the bed. A bright blue almost white spot in the middle of dark blue.

My eyes followed its beam out the window, into the sky. The moon found a crack between curtains. She said, I am here.

Summer Snow

12 Aug

When I woke up, I looked out the window. A tiny snowflake floated through the sky like a feather in slow motion. Then another and another and a few more. Soon the sky looked like a freshly shaken snow globe. Was it cottonwood flowers? Was it tree dandruff? Is that even a thing?

I felt a chill in my body, the snow air seeping its coolness through the thin glass of the window. No one said anything. No one was there but me and the window and the snow. Still, I heard a voice say, yes it’s snowing.

It was August. I started to cry.

Squirrels Gone Wild

29 Jun

There were two of them. Squirrels who were not, in fact, squirrels, but tiny spider-men in fuzzy costumes. I caught them scaling the garden wall with deep expertise, upside-down, sideways, all ways. They ripped out my hanging strawberries and unapologetically dug through the potted ferns.

“No!” I yelled through a closed window. I grabbed the predator urine spray bottle and threw open the glass door in a full speed run, sending my face into the screen door. Everyone saw. No one laughed. I knew they were laughing on the inside. But I wasted no time on my ego.

They saw me approach and scampered back up the wall and down the other side. I yelled again, something incomprehensible, and proceeded to spray the wall, the plants, and the ground in a fury. A breeze picked up and turned the urine back at my face. It tasted like peanuts, not good ones. I sprayed again. And again. Until the bottle was empty.

But I knew they would be back. Like those NYC roaches, the “squirrels” have no kryptonite. Yes, they would be back, and they would outlive us all.

Still, I regretted nothing.




The Slutty Bunny

29 Jun

When I stepped out into the garden, I came upon a bunny sitting in the arugula.

I wagged my finger like a mother to a child and said, “just because you’re cute does not make this okay, you slut.”

The bunny looked at me sideways with watery eyes, then hopped away behind the compost pile.

I immediately regretted my choice of words.


5 Jan

There were just a few animals at the pound that day. I noticed only one, the batcat. Or catbat, a kitten sized bat with the face of a cat. But not any cat. My cat. My cat who had recently left her tiny body to pursue other worlds, her ninth life having expired. I saw her everywhere, around every corner. Her meow woke me in the night as it rang in the center of my ear, like it was coming from inside of me. When it woke me, she wasn’t there. She was nowhere. But every time I walked into the house, the garden, the driveway, I expected her, I felt her. Every time every day, the disappointment of her body not where it should have been, filled my heart with sinking dread. When I found the catbat at the pound, I knew I had to adopt her. They handed her to me in a ziplock bag with an inch of the ziplock open for air. I brought her to the counter and took her out of the bag. This bag will not do, I said. They offered me a blanket to wrap her little body in. Her eyes were closed and I rubbed my finger up the bridge of her nose, like I used to do with my cat, the same little gray face. When I took my hand away from her face, just for a moment, the catbat woke. She leapt up off the counter and onto the floor. Someone was walking in and the front door was open. She ran out into the night. Catch her, I said. But I said it half-heartedly. I knew she had to leave. You can’t have a bat as a pet. Even a catbat. My heart sank, the way it sank everyday since my cat died. I let her go. I let them both go.

Cell Extensions

9 Jun

My hair was getting tangled. There is so much about hair. I started pulling the knots apart strand by strand, knowing if I went too fast I would rip my hair out. A test of patience. One. Strand. Of thick. Black. Hair. At. A time. This girl, this redhead I met at the coffee shop with tight curls, the kind I always longed for – either that or super straight hair, but I ended up with a frizzy Jewfro mess – she was there and her hair started to tangle too. Maybe the humidity was getting to us. (Humidity is both a friend and foe to the thick-ed hair). Her hair started to knot up too but she didn’t panic. She just let the air take control. I wasn’t having it. I slowly moved my fingers through the mess and then reached for a plastic tined brush. I started to brush from the bottom to the top, like they tell you to do on the No More Tangles bottle, and as I pulled the brush through my frizz, my hair grew slick and long. Remember those dolls in the 80’s whose hair you’d brush and it grew longer? Wait, was that a real thing? Well, it was like that. The more I brushed, with each stroke I pulled the brush through my hair, the longer my hair got. I started moving the brush from the scalp down once the knots didn’t need finagling. I pulled the brush down through each section of my hair and soon I had Cher in the 70’s hair. Not long thereafter, Crystal Gayle. I’ll remind you, Crystal Gayle was a singer whose main attribute, though she did have a lovely voice, was straight hair down to her ankles. Literally, a dream come true. My hair was shiny and so long, so fucking long and pulling that brush through it made it shinier, made my scalp tingle with pleasure, and my heart pound with excitement. A mirror appeared before me. I was looking at myself but really just at my insanely amazing hair.

Listen, it’s not about the hair. I have shaved my entire head multiple times, I’ve shaved pieces here and there, cut it into a mullet, a reverse mullet, a chelsea, and a lopsided bob. But really, and you know this, you do, there is just so much about the hair.