Overcast

Turner thought his girlfriend's blouse was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen, but he smiled and held the door open for her as they entered the library. He didn't know why he even cared about the shirt, but then again, he didn't know why they had come to the library. Or where he had last seen his ipod. Maybe this is normal, he thought. Excusing himself to go to the bathroom, Turner looked back at his girlfriend studying. He stood there staring for a minute before deciding that her shirt really was awful, and he walked outside to catch the number 4 home.

Words

We walked down the wet road toward the riverbank, but we decided not to swim that day even though it was warm. Sometimes watching the clouds in the drizzly rain was as much water as one could stand, and we held each other silently on the muddy grass instead.

from Friday, 15 June 2007

Marsha Merritt:
My dearest friend and supporter and lover of everything that I am and am not.
An incredible wife, mother, counselor, hippie older lady
Marsha Merritt passed away yesterday.
My heart has lost a piece, or at least a piece has grown faded.
I loved her, and she loved me.
The world is full of amazing people, but it has certainly lost a saint.
:Marsha Merritt

I wrote this about Marsha a few years ago now, and I'm glad to remember her. I'm usually afraid of people leaving and not returning, but as I read this, I know that these amazing memories and qualities of Marsha are here with me now and she is not gone.

I'm sitting amongst familiarity

but the walls are white and

my floor is no longer purple.

i see clues that you are a part of this

but i've never been very trusting and

ticket stubs mean nothing when they're not in your hands.

wine corks broken in half

remind me of mistakes

and the floating pieces look like

tiny buoys just trying to appear normal

while deep dark tidal waves take

them to meet the sky.

Remembering the end of summer

Good Afternoon

Sometimes my tomatoes leave me messages.

Last week when I came home, I found these little notes.

Today when I came home, I realized that it's going to start raining this weekend, and it's time to till up the garden. Every time I've picked a ripe tomato, I've thought about the seeds I planted. The seeds wrapped in a paper towel that Sloane brought home from a Ukrainian lady last summer. The seeds that I planted in paper coffee cups, that grew in a little greenhouse, that eventually grew up in our garden box. And now we're eating the fruit, and the plants are officially a part of the compost. I love that the seasons are changing, and now I'm excited to watch my new winter seeds take root. It is strange to think that they will also be part of my compost next year. The tension between being excited about new life and anticipating the inevitable tilling up of old life kind of settles me I think. There's a peace in the process of these veggies, and I like it.

and who do I see?

"because I'm never as good as when you're there.. and I can see myself the way you look at me..."

I do love the movie Almost Famous. I mean, I can only watch it at certain times in my life of course, but I'd say right now is one of them. And the above line sticks with me tonight. Not because it's kind of desperate and cheesy (yeah, it is), but because it makes me think of eyes and love. Thank God I don't always act in the way I see myself, but I act in the way I trust other people see me. the way God sees me. the way Matt sees me. the way my housemates see me. Sometimes I forget, and I lose myself and my hope. Other times I remember- and I see the way you look at me.

small thoughts

This is my favorite phrase that I read today.

"to believe that some unimaginable essence of who we are persists" by brian doyle

I don't feel like I persisted today; I actually don't feel like I made it past about 2:30pm. Sorry. Especially to those with whom I continued to interact- but I think this phrase is my favorite today because I know hope IS. it is part of the unimaginable essence- it has to be, because hope persists always. And it is part of me. and Greater than I am, fortunately.

Moving on, here's a little tidbit:

fibers move and fill

the space between our ears

to remind us that sound

is what we are experiencing

and then i know you are talking to

me

from A Tree Within

hermandad

Soy hombre: duro poco

y es enorme la noche.

Pero miro hacia arriba:

las estrellas escriben.

Sin entender comprendo:

tambien soy escritura

y en este mismo instante

alguien me deletrea.

brotherhood

I am a man: little do I last

and the night is enormous.

But I look up:

the stars write.

Unknowing I understand:

I too am written,

and at this very moment

someone spells me out.

- Octavio Paz

In the May of 1944

This is Kay that was with us

on the morning that the sun rose dimly

above the hills beyond our farmhouse.

Purse in hand and nylons clinging desperately

to legs that did not need them,

she stood straight beside a tall pine

and smiled.

The clouds remained still in the air

and her eyes saw the smoke

that rose from my cigarette.

A wild rose at her elbow leaned over

to listen to the faint breeze

and she heard the rumble of a truck

like the distant thunder that follows lightning.

This is Kay that was with us

before she shattered all our dinner plates

and left town in the next car to pass by our house.

dear ones

I don't have a sister, but if I did, I would want to sing this song to her. This song reminds me that I long for things, like hanging out with my brother, walking on a hot beach, feeling the air before a hurricane/storm comes, creating things, ...

Sister

What the water wants is hurricanes,
and sailboats to ride on its back.
What the water wants is sun kiss,
and land to run into and back.
I have a fish stone burning my elbow,
reminding me to know that I'm glad
that I have a bottle filled with my old teeth.
They fell out like a tear in the bag.
And I have a sister somewhere in Detroit
She has black hair and small hands.
And I have a kettledrum
I'll hit the earth with you.
And I will crochet you a hat.
And I have a red kite;
I'll put you right in it.
I'll show you the sky

by Sufjan Stevens

Here is what a fish stone is-

Description: The wooden fish stone is the mid-Cambrian geological era, formed in shallow water by chemical deposition of a precious mineral resources, about 5.5 billion years ago.Because of its unique powder fine grain structure and texture resembles clear and smooth grain, also known as grain jade. Only produced in Jinan.
Wooden fish stone, is a very rare stone hollow, the scientific name “too a surplus”, “Limonitum”, “in Huang Shi”, commonly known as “Revival stone”, “Phoenix egg”, a symbol of good luck, Foli boundless can bless living beings, evil spirits to ward off disasters. - the-writers-block.net

the last dime

Well, this is a rough draft but I don't care. I have to see it somewhere in order to process what it looks like and what needs work. It's in the pantoum format.

You told her you'd be there and let that last dime drop

into his hands, and he'd paid you twenty.

When you told her about watching his heart pop,

she cried and you tried to hug her plenty.

Into his hands, and he'd paid you twenty

dollars he'd earned while dreaming of you...

she cried and you tried to hug her plenty,

but you were the one who gave him the blue.

Dollars he'd earned while dreaming of you..

they were supposed to bring home some food,

but you were the one who gave him the blue,

and now he knows the maker of good.

They were supposed to bring home some food-

She ached when she knew that they'd brought you some more,

and now he knows the maker of good.

Fast blow's only worth hard cash to the poor.

She ached when she knew that they'd brought you some more,

When you told her about watching his heart pop-

Fast blow's only worth hard cash to the poor....

You told her you'd be there and let the last dime drop.

march's thoughts

the rain drops from the sky

like a faucet not quite shut;

it mists from low clouds,

an afterthought of their passing,

and I wish it would storm.

I can ignore the drizzle,

sending it away with my busy day;

I daydream and forget to be sensitive,

wrapped up in a fog,

and I wish it would storm.

small gardens in april

today I just want to have garden show and tell.

Also in the top photo are the toes of my new cowboy boots which i love, so I thought I would point them out. might as well.

the backyard greenhouse

meet our tomatoes, basil, lettuce, spinach, and cucumbers!

out front, our snow peas are growing happily in the cold rain, and I hope the slugs leave them alone. i haven't seen any signs of the chard coming up, but i am not worried.

April

under damp dark earth

a small life inhales and dreams

of deep roots and light.

In the Livingroom

there's tension and

we won't acknowledge

your discovery of our attempt

to thwart your murder.

we sit on couches

acting civilized the way

sitcom families do

and wait for you to leave.

you are cruel

you are murderous

but we know you are strong

and we know you are clever.

i know you wonder how or

why we are still here

but these questions you cannot ask

and you linger in the dense air.

why have you come here

and why do you care -

you do not know us deeply

nor do you try to know.

so we stand and watch

and listen to the thick silence

that tells us we have failed

while we wait for redemption.

wednesday morning's dream

I'm standing in our apartment, a high-rise, and we live on the 8th floor or so, fairly high up. We have a large open space that has little furniture in it, and there are large wall-sized windows that look out over the city. I'm standing looking out the windows, across the river that runs near us and the buildings across the river. Matt is standing with his back to the windows and talking to me. He's telling me about something important to him, but I can't stop looking out the window.

As I look across at the highrises, a dark orange octopus-like monster begins climbing and sliming its way overtop the buildings, toward the river, toward us. I yell and tell Matt to look at the monster, it's coming this way. He turns, looks out the window, and tells me that there is no monster: I'm dreaming. I stop and look again, and I still see it. He again tells me that I'm dreaming- there is no monster- so I look again. This time, I can see one of the dark orange tentacles up close, and I see that it seems to be made of crocheted yarn- unusual for a monster. I note that this is not normal, and try to listen to Matt who is still talking. Suddenly I see the tentacle's shadow inch into the river, and I begin to scream that the monster is in the river.

Matt looks me in the eyes and says, There is no river. I begin to cry so hard, and I say that yes there is a river, and he looks at me and says No, the river is made of soup. I look back at the river, and I see that he's right; it's made of soup and I can see floating vegetables in it.

I feel somewhat disillusioned but encouraged that Matt seems to understand that I see things, and then I wake up in my dream. A woman is in our apartment, a nurse or psychologist of some sort. I tell her about my dreams of the river and monster, and she replies, Oh that is an A----- dream. (It has a specific name that starts with an A, but I can't remember what it is.) I tell her that I want to meet more people who have had these types of dreams. She looks at me and says You can't. You're the only person who has ever had this kind of dream before.

I feel confused; Matt asks me if I want to go back to sleep, but I tell him No, I have to write.

-my alarm goes off in real life -the end-