Slipper Socks

Whenever I tell people

"I don't eat meat."

They tell me

"Oh,

I've been thinking about

being a vegetarian."

But they never follow through.

I remember

the car ride

that I shared with you

when I told you

"I don't eat meat."

And you said

"Oh,

I've been thinking about

being a vegetarian."

But here we are

on the couch next to the

Christmas trees

(that has lights

sparklier than the Eiffel tower)

and your plate of meatballs

smells like

things I can't have.

I like celebrating

our aversion to celebrating

with pizza and television.

In ten minutes
the door will open
and my jeans will be new
and my smile will be real
and today will vanish.

Wednesday Ashes

Your kitchen cupboard arms are open
in a rare display of mother hen affection
that you are exhibiting for not me.

I can still see the eyes you wore last Thursday
when your voice was like a velvet ribbon
and I was in love with the thought that
things might change.

My sentences are stanzas that litter the
alleys of my mind.

They never find their way to my mouth
to acquaint themselves with my tongue
or my teeth
or that little dangly thing in the back of my throat.

I ride the bus home and listen to The Beatles
and tell myself not to worry
and stare out the window
and I rise from the ashes of the day.

I cut my finger on Thursday night.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
it bled all the way to the bathroom.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
I rinsed it under water that turned it pink.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
people were all asking me if I was alright.

I could see the drops of blood I spilled
on the tiles in the cafeteria.

I could see the white of the tile on the bathroom floor
and the way it looked like it was bleeding
when my finger flooded the paper towel I had covered it with.

I've had my finger for as long as I can remember
and when I cut my finger on Thursday night
it had to get acquainted with a bruise and a slice
the shape of a wheelbarrow (with much more dirt.)

I cut my finger on Thursday night.

And when I cut my finger on Thursday night
I could see you out of the corner of my eye.

Braille

I remember the books with the yellow spines
and the browning pages
that you used to read to me like they were
new.

I remember the pink carpet
that you put over the plywood floor
to make me feel like I was a queen

(when in reality
I was nothing more than a daughter).

I remember wanting to burn down the walls
and walk away from the ashes.

I remember loving the smell
of the grass in the morning
and running my fingers through it
like it was a head of hair
even though I knew
that the dew would make my fingers wet
and cold.

I remember reading the world like braille
and not understanding a word.

15

Ever since I was a kid
I've wanted things I couldn't touch
so my fingers are inexperienced
but my heart has always been
steel wool and tweed-
hard and soft, heavy and comfortable.

That's the way I've always lived.
I'm happy with the things I don't have
because they still belong
to my mind just as much
as they belong to the world
and other people's hearts and hands.

I've been reading this story for ages now
so please don't spoil the ending
until I've figured it out for myself.

Won't even Shine

I know you want me to go to sleep,
but this room is half dressed in shadows
and I'm not ready to let go
of consciousness for a black blanket
that will only stretch into morning.

Don't remind me that you're not here.
I know it's going to be a long night
when the stars won't even shine.

Burger King Floor

In exchange for some Orbit gum:

---

Last night was a whole lot of dark
filled with bright smiles
and too loud laughter
that made anything worthwhile.

Sometimes, I have a tendency to
say far too much
when I should say nothing at all,
so please ignore the words I scattered
on that Burger King floor
if you didn't like the way they sounded
all strung together.

Last night was a whole lot of fun
filled with scripted beauty
and a voice from the backseat
as we drove along,
three amigos in the nighttime.

Sometimes, I wonder who I would have been
if I had stuck to my decision
to bury myself in myself and give up
on nights like this.

Nights like this
are my salvation
when I forget how to laugh too loud.

Leave your gum under the table
so that the next unsuspecting customer
will know that we were young last night.

4:56 AM

this is one of my favorite things i have ever written.

i wrote it in august 2008.

---

Five o'clock in the morning: I am born.
Every word I see has double-meaning and
every idea is a chain reaction. Remembering
things not fit for any other time of day
or night, (I count the seconds before the sun
breaks into my world, a vast orb of indifference;
always there.)

In a haze, I think of what it's like
to dream when you know it will come true-
I have become the patterns and solids,
intricate against each other, layered over
the world. Everything is laced together.
The trees hold hands outside my window,
whispering to me in silent breaths.

Can I describe the lonely feeling
of being everything
with no one to witness the rise?

Stutter

Don't think that just because I stutter
what I'm saying isn't true

because my heart may be buried in the gutter
but I'm still in love with you.