“I have two more weeks to pack” by Julia on her patio

Saturday June 23, 2018
5 minutes
from a text

Get here sooner bring your guitar and your good ideas
We’re going to jam on the patio and light some candles and eat a charcuterie board like last time
Like last time
I like last time and this time will be so different
No more blonde on the top
No more orange hue better in person
You, I think will find a sundress in my closet to love best and please wear it
Great don’t pack anything let me give you everything you need
And feed you I will feed you
Like a humming bird buzzing up
Borrow the tiger balm you gave me for my trip
I use it on the back of my neck when I can’t sleep
You can sleep in or out or on my side of the bed
It caves in sometimes
It caved in today
But we can touch the floor and isn’t that always fun
I can’t hold the clock because it teases
Tick tick and still weeks and weeks
Week week
Week week
Counting down the days until the walks catch our feet and the night worships the salt back into our hair
Don’t bring a blowdryer
Mine is fine and works the way a $3 blowdryer should
Don’t bring anything but you

“your comfort and ours” by Julia at the pastry shop on Davie

Saturday April 9, 2016
5 minutes
from an email

Sylvia stays over for a night puts her feet up on the coffee table cooks with Remi’s fresh herbs and his signature sauces drinks my wine and dusts my curtains sleeps in late forgets to hang the bath mat over the edge of the tub stays up late talks on the phone to her psychic friend hangs my photos irons my shirts tells Remi that she’s menstruating tells Remi how to tell me he loves me in sign language listens to me cry about my mother’s surgery holds my hand when I lie about hating my new dance class sleeps over again stays for a week and then another.

“Her bedroom” by Julia at LIT on College

Wednesday, September 11, 2013
10:49am at Lit on College
5 minutes
Diana Evans

It was lined with floral wallpaper but not the full wall wallpaper, just the trim or whatever. Just like -a thick strip around the top of the room. I don’t know what that’s called. It was ugly, though. I remember not liking it and if I had to sleep over it took me a while to drift off because I couldn’t stop looking at the flowers—the insecure, generic pattern that I felt, in my youth, didn’t match Cathy at all. I used to tell her every time that we should rip it down–that trim stuff or whatever–then her parents would be forced to paint it for her. She was such a prissy little do-gooder and obviously said no. So one night, when I was staying over, I waited for Cath to fall asleep, and climbed onto her dresser with a nail clipper and I peeled at the corner until the wallpaper lifted. I pulled till the strip came off where it wanted to disconnect from its mother. It felt good. It was dark so I hadn’t seen what I had done until I woke up holding the strip underneath my pillowcase where I slept on the floor.