“didn’t resemble each other” by Julia at the studio

Monday October 1, 2018
5 minutes
J. Mays

Hello October,
How you smell like years past
but taste different
Are you spicier?
It may be too soon to tell.
So far you are wet and
orange and alive and
I’d like to say thank you.
You have never been one
to steal from other seasons–
you always feel exactly
like you.
Are you going to cradle
the spasm in my back
better than your sisters?
Because you resemble the
oldest child even though you
are one of the youngest.
Your hum is softer;
more mature,
more observant and sponge.
You are a river reflecting and
I’d like to say thank you.
I promise I won’t burn you
the way I used to light the
match at your arrival.
I promise you with all
the bigger belief in myself
this time, the one that keeps
saying No at all the right moments.
You don’t have to be anything
like the others who try to inspire
You get the wind chimes and
cool earth and the mosaic of
leaves for free.

“didn’t resemble each other” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday October 1, 2018
5 minutes
J. Mays

We didn’t resemble one another when we left, but when we got back everybody kept saying we looked like sisters. We spent a total of four hours apart over the course of these seven weeks, which is truly not a lot of time. Travelling with someone allows you to know them in a way that every other act does not. What happens when it’s raining and you don’t have an umbrella and you don’t even have shoes on, just leather flip flops? What happens when you’re more tired than you’ve ever been, and you finally understand what real fatigue is, not the kind of fatigue one gets from all-nighters and hangovers, but from responsibility and having to navigate the winding streets of Jerusalem?