Carriage
How can you bear it?
All the knowing, the feeling
under your too-thin skin?
How can you not break?
All that past, that history
Pressing on your bony shoulders?
How can you?
Diagonal
When you are gone.
I stretch
legs, arms, hair
sprawling. You are gone.
I stretch
to fill the empty bed
the spaces
where you aren't.
Where your arms, legs, hair
should be
sprawling.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
03.26.10
03.26.10
Restless. giddy. sad. excited. sentimental. intense. scared. unhinged. hungry. unsure. torn. anxious. reluctant. electrified. whirling.
We're making decisions. Things are happening. Plane tickets are booked. Destinations are sure. We are making changes, moving, leaving, arriving, rearranging, relearning, reliving. We're in control; it's up to us. It's our own path we're making. But it's new. We don't know this way. We are knowingly going into the unknown.
Restless. giddy. sad. excited. sentimental. intense. scared. unhinged. hungry. unsure. torn. anxious. reluctant. electrified. whirling.
We're making decisions. Things are happening. Plane tickets are booked. Destinations are sure. We are making changes, moving, leaving, arriving, rearranging, relearning, reliving. We're in control; it's up to us. It's our own path we're making. But it's new. We don't know this way. We are knowingly going into the unknown.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
02.24.10/Half
02.24.10
I am thinking about missing Nepal. Sitting in the warm, February sun, enjoying the fact there there IS a warm February sun here. Whiling away an afternoon with window shopping, writing, people-watching, sharing this space with strangers.
I hear a generator. A crow. A woman speaking English-Nepali. A tourist chatting with her friend. Car horns. The pop-fizz of my soda. An airplane. A gust of spring-like wind.
It's raining tree-bits, an evergreen shedding mini pinecones onto my hair. I love the warmth. The green. It reminds me that I'm alive.
Half
Wednesday afternoon
a half week, a half day
a half-written letter to a friend
half a world away.
I am half here, half home
split, divided, bisected
eating orange halves
half-heartedly.
I am thinking about missing Nepal. Sitting in the warm, February sun, enjoying the fact there there IS a warm February sun here. Whiling away an afternoon with window shopping, writing, people-watching, sharing this space with strangers.
I hear a generator. A crow. A woman speaking English-Nepali. A tourist chatting with her friend. Car horns. The pop-fizz of my soda. An airplane. A gust of spring-like wind.
It's raining tree-bits, an evergreen shedding mini pinecones onto my hair. I love the warmth. The green. It reminds me that I'm alive.
Half
Wednesday afternoon
a half week, a half day
a half-written letter to a friend
half a world away.
I am half here, half home
split, divided, bisected
eating orange halves
half-heartedly.
Monday, April 5, 2010
02.10.10/02.18.10
02.10.10
Today, the earth vibrated with fertility, with life. I wanted to bury myself in its chocolate soil, live off it, become it. Today, the sky unveiled its eyes, shy no more. A shameless, naked blue. And the mountains, always there, stepped out of the parting clouds like royalty. Sometimes, the beauty is too huge, too delicious, too lush and colorful to bear.
02.18.10
Home is up to its knees in snow. Nowhere to go but...home.
Home. Full of wide, too-bright smiles, of crushing, gushing hugs. Full of reminders, familiarities, sameness. White sparkling, tidy.
Today, the earth vibrated with fertility, with life. I wanted to bury myself in its chocolate soil, live off it, become it. Today, the sky unveiled its eyes, shy no more. A shameless, naked blue. And the mountains, always there, stepped out of the parting clouds like royalty. Sometimes, the beauty is too huge, too delicious, too lush and colorful to bear.
02.18.10
Home is up to its knees in snow. Nowhere to go but...home.
Home. Full of wide, too-bright smiles, of crushing, gushing hugs. Full of reminders, familiarities, sameness. White sparkling, tidy.
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