“That time I was in London” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday October 23, 2019
5 minutes
Tumble Home
Amy Hempel

I fell for you in your
tiny apartment in London
the strange pipes creaking
and seven roommates making
food in the early hours

I got sick that trip
shivering and shaking
seeing auras of light
around bodies and doorways
you brought me
bone broth and daisies
you told me
“everything is going to be ok”

you told me
stories about when you were young
and how your father never
raised his voice
his hand was another story
your mother smoked
Salem’s by the carton
braided your sister’s hair
so tight that her head itched

When I was finally well enough
to emerge from your small bedroom
my healing cave
we went for curry on the corner
”burn the last of it out of you”

you said

“we have the luxury of time” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee

Tuesday September 30, 2014 at Culprit Coffee
5 minutes
On Directing Film
David Mamet

“We have the luxury of time, Jenna…” He says, as he cracks another egg into the steaming pan. It sizzles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She responds, pouring orange juice into cups. She drinks hers quickly, and pours another glass. “I love your hair like that,” he says, putting two english muffins into the toaster. “Why don’t you wear it down more often?” She smiles. “It gets in the way.” They’ve only been in London for two weeks, but she feels at home. It’s taking him longer, but that’s okay. She opens the window. He flips the eggs and she goes behind him and puts her arms around his middle.

“in places like London” by Julia in her backyard

Sunday, July 14, 2013
5 minutes
For Selma
Langston Hughes

That’s where we went and I found out I hated you. Sort of a last minute decision to go and then I was excited I went, but soon after all you could talk about was money and clothes and shit you do that’s better than me and how you thought I wasn’t grateful because I criticized the paintings hanging in your brother’s hallway. I didn’t know they were yours. I knew they were shit but I
didn’t know you painted them. So sorry. But like, not really. And I hated you because your hair was always perfect. And I hated you because your tolerance for alcohol and smarmy men was higher than mine. And I hated you because you smelled like almonds even after drinking. I don’t like feeling inferior to you. I don’t like feeling like you decide when I get to laugh or cry. I’m mad still, I realize this now. And I don’t want to go back to London. I didn’t get to see all of it because I spent the majority of my time thinking about ways to poison your croissantwiches or your shampoo. I was so angry that I forgot why I started to love you in the first place.

“debut in London” by Sasha on her couch

Sunday March 10, 2013
5 minutes
Deconstructing Sammy
Matt Birkbeck

It wasn’t a fancy place, but it would do. It wasn’t particularly inviting – there was nothing on the walls, except faint fingerprints and scuffs from furniture moving; the kitchen smelt unendingly of old pepper and roasting pork chops; there were most certainly not dimmer switches on the lights. She admired the charm, however, of the smaller-than-usual toilet and the pantry off the stinky kitchen, which seemed to long for cans of tomato sauce from Sicily and jars of Dilly Beans from Granny’s garden. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it would do, at least for the six months that she planned to stay. Six months. With a possible extension of forever.