11 Jan

I would go back as me now to remember, to pay better attention, to catalogue stories in my brain detail by detail, to have a photographic memory and write it all into epic novels.

To erase the depression of an incomplete body.

To make out just making out leading to nothing but dry humping, for hours lips chapping the world losing time my body losing gravity and space.

Ringing telephones with no end, no answering machine no voicemail just ringing on and on let it ring for endless minutes, impatiently patient cultivating slow Buddhist focus on one thing, no multi tasking. No. Multi. Tasking.

Wishes for slowness. Wishes for unfinished minds and half bodies to remember better than we all have. Wishes for their eyes to unspiral and see each other.




No Pancakes

19 Oct

My mother bought a pancake house. The kind that serves thin brown coffee out of drip pots. The decaf drip pot has an orange handle, you so you know it’s decaf. My brother and I share a room in the back of the restaurant so that we can wake early and get to work. We don’t have our own bathroom – we have to use the customer bathrooms. Sometimes this is embarrassing. But mostly I don’t care.

The other day, a group of people I went to high school with came in to the restaurant. I tried to sneak by them on my way out of the bathroom, but my brother wanted me go see what they were wearing. I wanted to say, hi, anyway. I heard one of their husbands died recently, from a rock falling on his head right out of the sky.

I spent a long time trying to make my hair look good in the bathroom, then went over to give my condolances. They were not receptive to me. Basically, they just ignored me. I told my brother they iced me. I don’t know why they iced me. Maybe they were too sad to catch up. As I rounded the corner, I saw my ex. It was a day of long-time-no-sees. She was much nicer than the high school people. Her friend saw me and said, oh she should be your girlfriend. And I said, no that’s in the past. The ex and I hugged and she kissed me. I could tell she had a cold but I didn’t get mad. I just wiped her saliva off my face and smiled at her.

That day, I decided I would no longer work at the pancake house. Too much drama. I got on my bike and rode away without telling my mom. Thank god I don’t work there anymore.

Travel Plans

16 Oct

I bought a small two-seater airplane, an air travel sports car of sorts. I don’t know how to fly it, but there are times when such things are irrelevant. What I know is that the trickiest part is landing, and the second trickiest is taking off. Once in the air, smooth sailing. We bought it together, actually, Abby and I.

Behind the two cockpit seats is a kitchenette with a built-in table, like in a trailer. We have had guests here for coffee and dinner. I am usually afraid to go anywhere in it because of the fact that I don’t know how to fly a plane. But Abby always says, you can do it don’t be scared. When I start thinking about the future – what will happen in the air? how does this lever work? where is the runway? – I start to panic. But if I close my eyes and trust Abby’s voice, we end up in one piece on the ground at a new destination.

It’s not that I don’t have anything to learn. Or that I am reckless (though maybe a little impulsive). It’s that sometimes closing my eyes and listening gets the job done better.



Nothing is One Way

6 Sep

There is no human to human love that is unconditional. Not because you are my brother or my mother. Not because you are a child. Not because we’ve known each other for ten years. Love has boundaries. Everything else is romantic delusion.

Even when we say no expectations, we expect to be respected. We expect to be heard, to be equal, to not get smothered in fire. Love is like joy and sadness and anger. It comes, it goes, it is triggered. It swells and it deflates, sometimes to the point of rot and uninflatability.

My love has reasonable conditions.

A Job’s a Job

5 Jul

I took a new job, twenty minutes away by bus then roller coaster. I’ve never commuted by roller coast before. My stomach drops every time we go around a big twist. The bottom of each two-person car is made of glass and I can see the city like an ant farm. This also makes my stomach drop.

The job is at a falafel place where you order at the counter. The colors are red and white and I have to wear a white paper hat. I feel too old to be doing this. But a job is a job when you need one. My twin and I have taken the job together. She seems to be handling it all better than I am. We haven’t tried the falafel yet, and I imagine it’s nothing like what we had as children in the Middle East. I feel like a traitor. And I’m unsettled by the roller coast commute.

Waning Crescent 39%

31 May

When the moon was moving toward new, its shadow shining heavy against its fingernail sliver light, a simple orange bow unravelled from Anne’s braid. Anne and I are not close. But our suns are both in Aries and we collide with grace and laughter. I caught the bow as it fell and my heart sank.

This is, Anne said, the end. What comes next is the only thing you can’t know until you know.

I was afraid to know. Because no one ever knew until they knew, and by the time they knew they couldn’t tell anyone who didn’t know.  I couldn’t reach the pocket that housed my trust and safety. I couldn’t reach and I panicked. Of course, there was nothing to panic about. I would know soon enough.

A Short Clean Ladder

12 Apr

I took the green ladder to the car wash. Or maybe I didn’t take it there but it was there beside my car, getting washed instead of my car, nothing to do with a car at the carwash.

Ladders are a path to nowhere. They end abruptly and then you can only go down. Maybe change a lightbulb or paint a ceiling, maybe climb onto the roof or some other high up place. But then what? And what if you shift your weight wrong? Broken ankle, busted nose, fractured wrist, cracked head.

I watched the ladder get washed. I felt the spray of thin wisps of chemical water through my T-shirt and wondered why the ladder was at the carwash, why I was at the carwash, inside the carwash.

Cleaning my path forward, only as far as I could see. Without my glasses. Which is not far. Clearing the road ahead just a little bit. Because I just had a birthday and the year ahead has arrived.