Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Quiet stories

Sometimes you find stories in the most unlikely places.

"I knew it was over when Mom had me try on her wedding dress. I was five and it was Halloween and I stood on a stool while she cut off the bottom so I could wear it. Dad walked in the room and saw me and Mom with the dress and I knew it was over. They're still together, but the dress is gone and I'm still waiting for him to leave."

"So we were driving across town, right? We had this big U-Haul with everything he ever owned it in. We've only been together three months now, but we've been living together for two. It was weird that day when we were moving because he was driving the truck and I was sitting beside him with his dog's ashes in my lap and his ex-girlfriend's engagement ring on a chain around my neck. They were up front with us because they were the most important things he owned. His girlfriend cheated on him before he could give her the ring -- his grandmother's, re-sized to fit the girlfriend -- and now he doesn't know what to do with it. He won't give it to me, but he wanted me to keep it safe while we drove across town."

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Not to be confused with

You can tell by the paint on the walls that they've got money, which most of us confuse with class. Rich colors; New England colors; reds and yellows and golds. You can tell by the beers in their hands, brown bottles with local brewery labels, and the tables with trays of steaming food. They've got nice smiles and all is well.

In our pictures, we've got old barns with Christmas lights and people sitting in heaps on the floor. We've got boxes of wine and bowls of Chex Mix and people dancing. We wonder what people will confuse us with.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Masking tape names

He got it in Rio De Janeiro, he said, but it's got pictures of his trip to Antarctica. When most people say they've been there, you don't believe them. But he's got the pictures to prove it.

He was handsome back then and was the only one on the ship with the camera. It's a waste now, he says, but I thought it'd mean something someday. Just like he thought he'd always be handsome. Some things don't last forever.

He wrapped us up in his mother's furs 'cause it's the only way he can keep us warm. We won't wear them. One of us is allergic, one is vegan, and one lives in Florida. But it's nice to be warm for a few moments on that cold night.

He wants us to put our names on the things we want, 'cause he knows that he'll die someday. He knows that his things aren't safe with anyone and might as well give it all away 'cause he can't keep the thieves out of the attic.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

what's under your pavement

we used to slide back there. it seemed like miles. we'd get a running start and hit the ice and our boots were like skates and we'd go all the way to the end, where the river cut the field in half and was still runnin even on the coldest days. sometimes we'd jump it and get our boots wet and knew we were in trouble. frostbite happens, especially out here, mom always said. so we'd carry the person with the icy boot back home like they were already dead and get into the house with yellow warm lights and mom would pick the burrs out of our mittens and wrap up the icy foot.

daddy knew we'd outgrown our backyard when i bust the seams in my baseball. he made us these bats out of the spare wood in the garage and they were the most beautiful things in the world, smooth and the perfect weight and size, just for us. well one day i hit a pitch so hard it landed in the drop off behind our apartment, with the old rusted fridge and broken glass and tangles of thorns. daddy said then, we have to find a new place to practice. so he took us out to the field and we made a baseball diamond with some of daddy's old shirts as bases. the ground was uneven and there were burrs everywhere, but we could hit the ball as hard as we wanted. i hit those pitches so hard i cracked my bat and my dad never looked so proud.

there was this time i was all wrapped up in something, 'cause my friend kissed the boy i loved, so i went out there to the field. it became this place that i could go and it felt like it was mine, even though it never really belonged to me. i found this old broken down barn under layers of yellow grass and got these pieces of coal and metal and kept them in my pocket. i went to the tree on the other side of the river, the tree that grew sideways. i tried to climb it but couldn't so instead i just sat under it and watched my house. it looked so different from the back, lined up with the other townhouses like big, quiet people just waiting for something to happen.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Late night thoughts in the Vineyard

I can hear the ocean through my window and my skin's got sand inside it now. I'm on someone else's vacation, in a house that no one ever lives in. There are natives and vacationers and workers and I'm a little bit of all of them.

Friday, May 08, 2009

No return

I'll send you letters without return addresses. And you'll open them, one by one, and wonder who in the world could love you so much. You won't know it's me, and it's better that way.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

people don't smile much anymore

"to the pretty brunette at the bagel market in essex: your friendly smile brightened my gray vermont day. thanks."

It's people like this that make me realize everything will be okay.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Listen

I want to write you back, but I'm not going to. I have a lot to say, but you wouldn't listen.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

sincerity

Funny how I don’t even know if I was sincere. Sometime I’ll be able to talk again; sometime my voice won’t catch in my throat. Trying didn’t get us anywhere so we’ll sit back and watch now. We can’t make the world happy, baby.

It’s days like these that I remember you can only ever count on yourself. Cheers, friend.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

nights with

It's the nights with poetry that I don't want to think about deadlines. It's the nights with artists that I don't want to look for tomorrows. It's the nights I'm already looking back on and realized I took for granted.

It's the days I wake up not knowing what's going to happen next. It's paralysis and freedom and what now?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Letter to no one; Letter to everyone

Someday, I hope you'll understand. I promise I won't wince when you smoke your cigarettes. I'll be honest and you won't put your hands over your ears. We'll look through all those pencil markings on yellow paper and know we've found something.

Someday, I'll let it all go. I promise I won't hold on forever so you won't have to be so sad. We'll stop walking in those circles and catch a boat over the Atlantic. We'll drink and eat strange foods and I'll throw my arms into the wind and everything will be right.

Someday, I'll understand why you love me. I promise I'll believe you and you'll stop worrying like I know you do when no one is looking. We'll do everything we always wanted and you'll let me go and I'll stop pretending like I'm cut out for this.

Life & Art

Even if I don't like their styles, Man Ray and Dali maybe had the right idea.

If life doesn't make sense, why should art?

Monday, February 09, 2009

an old response to an old beatnik

i watched my grandmother die
in the yellow room
next to the man who masturbated with the door open.
while she asked for her “damn cigarettes” he was
coming on his hospital sheets
for me to see and the nurses to clean.

my father’s face is clay now,
the kind crumbled at the bottom of the craft bag
and you can only think about how many guys i blew
before you.

i have your voice in my phone, save it for 21 days,
there’s ink on my sheets and
i only miss you because i haven’t eaten and
right now i’d lick the chicken grease from your lips.

i went back to that place where i live
with a lost soul on my mind and
old man semen under my fingernails
and you wanted me to cry with you over
the sounds and smoke through the window
through my walls
through my door.

it’s early in november and again i taste snow,
but you look away like we,
we were never naïve.
i remember when we could change things,
but our new found intellect tells us that we’re,
we’re too good to use our minds anymore.

i missed her by half an hour
and i’ll never forgive myself
for the hours wasted
watching them play activist, play revolutionist,
when we all knew they just wanted to hear
their voices in the stars.

you told me to hold on tight or i’d lose my way,
you told me, baby, it’s a wild world.
our words have been falling into the ocean and someday
they’ll wash on shore and
everybody will know but, baby,
i can’t fight your wars.
i’ll draw my way with sharpies on maps and never forget
the nights i remembered why i’m alive.

i watched my grandmother die
in the yellow room
full of cigarettes and words that i wrote on my hand
and the illusion of companionship was gone with her
and the ink washed away but the words are still there,
old words, real words, a lifetime of words,
and this is how we die.