Saturday November 15, 2014
from a London Transport card
I can see it in your eyes – the fatigue, the woods, heavy on your lids like shadow. You roll a cigarette. You don’t light it. You just hold it, using it like an orchestral conductor. I catch you watching yourself move, in the mirror. When we go out to the store for eggplant and bread, you wrap a scarf high on your face. “Ready for battle,” you say. I can see it in your eyes – it’s better here, but it’s not the best, you’re still dancing in the clouds, high above me, my feet glued to the sidewalk, but moving.
Saturday February 22, 2014 at Cherry Bomb
overheard on Roncesvalles
I’ve been following my heart
Like it’s an old friend whom I trust unconditionally and unequivocally.
You know that friend
Who you call when things collapse and you’ve lost all sense of time and morals?
I’ve been letting my heart lead me by the hand.
I find that she often takes me towards strong coffee and sunlight playing through azure stained glass.
Today, she surprised me with shopping on eBay for black boots and paisley dresses.
We’re poor, so I laugh and shake my head and stick my pinky into the jar of almond butter.
We are well worn for our twenty eight years,
We find dead birds on the sidewalk and a sob catches in our throat.
We chase the love that we promised ourselves was truest
Even when it aches
Even when growing pains threaten
And thunderstorms brew heavy.
When I forget that she’s there,
that sweet one,
swollen and ripe like an August peach,
she taps me on the shoulder and hums with a tone that sounds like a cello.
Sunday February 2, 2014 at The Fringe Creation Lab
these five minutes: writer’s workout
TJ’s got her hands in her pockets like she’s some kinda cool kid, like she forget to lock the door. TJ blows bubbles with her gum and lets them bubbles pop on her own face and then she peels it off, bit by bit, and drops the gum balls on the carpet. When TJ makes a peanut butter sandwich she eats a spoonful of straight peanut butter, straight heart attack. She uses the same spoon for the sandwich. Who makes a sandwich with a spoon, anyway?!
Sam says nothing. He watches her and sometimes makes a small grunting sound. TJ has chosen to forget which sound means “good” and which sound means “bad”. TJ has disentangled herself from those words altogether. It’s all grey to her – the sky, the sidewalk, Sam’s hair, the snow.