“They would tell everyone” by Julia at her desk

Thursday, April 12, 2018
8:14pm
5 minutes
Audience of One
Rob de Boyrie

We can’t tell anyone because they would tell everyone.
Some things are better left secret:
all of our best-laid plans for a baby and her sister
the house we bought with our romance novel money
I am still reminding myself this is better
to wait until it’s done before I say it out loud
they wouldn’t let it be what it is if they opened their
big dumb mouths to name it
diminishing it with all that outside tongue
The photographer man told me this first
Years ago he wrote it on the front page of my moleskine dayplanner
“Not every single thing needs to be said.”
Maybe it wasn’t that exactly, but the sentiment was there
We can’t tell anyone that we’re swimming the Mississippi River
that we’re moving our butts to South Beach

“Do not be dynamic” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday April 11, 2017
10:37pm
5 minutes
Microphone Lessons For Poets
Helen Guri


do not make any sudden movements
do not move your head or your eyes
do not express an opinion
do not engage outside of your peripheral vision
if you need to practice how to be still
how to feel less
then please do so
practice being unmoved by beauty
practice being unphased by magic
practice being unchanged by other human instances
do not be dynamic
do not vibrate too quickly
do not let them see you in motion
do not say anything
do not know anything
do not let your thoughts require air
do not beg the wind to carry you
do not write a poem
do not need to speak it

“Electro hypersensitivity” by Julia at her dining table


Monday March 14, 2016
11:55pm
5 minutes
Common Ground Magazine

We are lying on the hard wood floors we’re afraid to ruin. You run your hand along the outline of one square and then another. You grab my fingers and trace them along the spot you just were. You say
Do you feel that?
I say
Yeah I feel that.
The little nail pokes through and keeps getting caught in my socks and ripping them just a little. I watch your face change shape as you continue to drag your soft fingertips across the ground, searching for imperfections, thinking about preventative measures. I move my head into your lap and I close my eyes. You say
We will probably have to pay for these god forsaken floors.
I say
I know that. We aren’t very good at protecting them.
You say
Maybe because we care about real things like Orcas and braiding sweet grass into tiny nests.