2.17.2017

all are equal to a falling raindrop

i need an arepa
and
a knitting
emoji.

is it Saturday, yet?

lunch brings pleasures and pains.
beside him.


he likes my mini golf idea.


The Beach is read and watched
1/4 of the way through.

March Saturdays are
free

and

we

we

we

we. WE.

will spend one of them
at
the NYBG
Orchid Evenings.

Thailand Theme.

him: "This is lovely! You're endlessly thoughtful. I can't wait."

So I quickly run
into the hall
to
slow walk and
smile big.

hashtag Is this real life?


2.16.2017

in the car
in the bathtub
in the cold heat

in the living room
in the kitchen
in my bed

catching up on This Is Us

i wait


i'm hung over
and
exhausted
and
ready to shut my eyes


my wrist vibrates
with his name.

and

he makes plans like i make plans.


2.15.2017

after work drink at Sunny's in Red Hook
the sailors and Etta
and
pick up line competitions smelling of BO

Narragansett sing along
tiny dancer
on
the toilet ledge

i had my first cigarette in 6 years.

whiskey came
unordered
and
went
graciously between Scott and Nick

but

neither mattered.

so i stood and stood
and
we laughed and laughed
and
talked boats until my fingers felt drunk

smiles meant for
the dedication pages of The Beach

he offered
i grinned.

Patagonia maps
and
moaning wails
and
i keep looking towards the door
because i cannot contain
anything
nor
do i care

so we hop on a boat
and
another boat
and
another boat
and
i did not wear the right shoes for this.

gloveless we huddled
in the rear of the vessel
and
came upon
her.
there
in the East River.

glowing.
i'm glowing.
we're glowing.
she's glowing.
our hands. locked. tight.

my teeth were frozen
and
my eyeballs full of water
and
his eyeballs.

first kisses
should always
be on a boat

in the middle of the east river
in the middle of winter
in the middle of the night.

on Valentine's Day.

2.06.2017

I want something to rely on.




phone calls from a ghost
familiar and fun


i find myself, again.


i repeat and repeat and repeat

and re-pot and re-pot and re-pot
and
mourn


throw away the microwave
and
any attempt


care for a 90 year old stranger
and my father
and my soul
through an unfunny matinee



i move through the apartment quietly
as though
nothing ever happened here.


i drink from the water bottle
and
sleep under colder sheets


what keeps us moving?

it can't be silence.
it can't be neglect.
it can't be hope.


because i hoped and hoped and hoped.


11.29.2016