“How’s that bite on your neck?” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday, July 5, 2015
10:32pm
5 minutes
Said by Joe

How’s the bite on your neck?
Itchy.
Can I scratch it for you?
Isn’t that kinda… gross?
Not to me…
Pause.
Okay, I guess.
Okay.
Ouch!
What?
You’re hurting me!
Sorry.
I already over-scratched it so you have to be gentle!
Sorry.
Pause.
It’s okay. I shoulda told you.
Is that better?
Oh. Oh yeah. That’s really good.
Pause.
Wanna also massage me?
No.
What?
I never give you the kind of massage you want.
That’s not true.
It is.
I’ll give you one back?
No.
Pause.
Stop scratching me, then.
Your bite’s not itchy?
Now that’s it’s all raw and like, practically bleeding?
Shush.
Thanks. You scratched real good.

“I’m glad I am” by Sasha at Bicerine Espresso Bar


Wednesday, September 4, 2013
9:36am
5 minutes
Julia’s warm-up

I’m glad I am in the delicate inner petals where words for colours are a joke I just keep laughing at, alone, but so full. I’m glad I am free of the worry, the chain I see around her wrist, her ankle, their necks, holding them together but keeping them apart, too. I’m glad I am pure liquid, in keeping with the blood thing, the 80% thing, the tide in here, in the ribcage and the scapula. I’m glad that I found out about the itch of wondering and the scratch of knowing, of being so compelled tears are always one blink away, just like my mother.