seaworthy vessel
so that was high school.
this was cal studies:
california girl
A.
as long as i’m moving i’m ok.
as long as i’m moving i’m ok
i am moving through moods like a dancer gone mad
like a swingdance set doubletime
like a break dance. i’m
breaking a little every time i shift my weight.
i was born in a dry season that took 10 years to remember how to rain
and is always on the verge of forgetting again.
my lust for water has driven me towards a
schoolgirl crush on this pacific ocean
this specific ocean’s such a tease
(always lapping
at my ankles
and leaving me
exposed at low tide).
i am
hazy at best
color me cloudy+
call me your sweetheart.
i’m a california girl
and my honeyfolded hills are everywhere
(ridges bristling with grass that is softer from a distance
and oak trees patient for rain).
i am standing at the epicenter of eternity
not looking lost, just considering my options.
like a young girl in a new place
not shy, just taking her time,
wondering which friends she has yet to make
and which ones she’s used up already.
B.
writing slam poetry about nature is like being an environmentalist in this city’s thick heart.
it is two people who think they’ll never fall in love but that’s just ‘cause they haven’t met yet.
it is space and stardust before the big bang, moving forward and backward at the same time.
but i am sitting here trying, and they are trying and we are trying,
we are doing so much more than conjugating, more than echoing-we are learning.
we have learned oceans and watersheds,
have learned the shape of his face when he cries,
the pinkness of her cheeks before she yells with frustration,
the arc of his hands as they dance with anxiety,
and after six weeks you know more than conflict.
you know hearts and minds and bodies,
the curve of a back, the steep slope of shoulders. toes that curl up and then down,
fingers braced against orange as they dig through bitter flesh,
because people cannot help but become human when you see them truly,
and somehow hearts grow wider with time and contradiction
and somehow we become large enough to hold the world as it grows larger within us.
we trained to throw minds to the roadside like trash out of windows,
to take and not give,
to lack patience to stand sweltering in deserts pushing for an answer to every hard question,
and we love to defy expectation.
and when tired we rest heads on hillsides and in streams, by puddles and volcanoes,
rest on fourteen people folded deep in candlelight and snow,
rest on one girl
who once exhaled softly and said
i don’t understand how the world can be bad when people have such a capacity to be beautiful.
C.
every mile is worth a minute
so i have been hovering here for centuries between
sea and sky-
hovering just between
hallowed and full of holes, between
inhale
and exhale.
amazing grace how sweet the sound
of these crashing waves
these pounding beats
these beating hearts
these restless streets
marching in time to an
intrinsic rhythm
buried deep below this dry cracking earth.
and as long as i’m moving i’m ok,
i am moving through these foggy electric arteries
highways pumping bloodcell carparts,
steel-winged angel for the lonely hearts
of the people passing glances at the wreckage
-shaking heads and then just shaking-
i am navigating this epicentral city i call my heart-
‘cause i’m a california girl.
D.
i don’t know why i’m drawn to highways. this isn’t quite true.
highways are like rivers, fierce and fast,
promising escape or at least transportation,
and i like to move.
i like to sit on the little yellow bus and hold in my mouth the speed with which we travel.
this is how we do it: windows open, wind wild down the center isle,
music shifting steady over curves and pebbles.
heads against windows, muscles loose after strain, eyes closed after watching,
breath soft and predictable.
i like to hold in my throat the conflict of it all.
we are bright young things, out to save the world.
we are traveling in a bus, using gas, using roads.
we are solution and problem tied together,
hurtling down pavement hard and bright with wind and sunlight.
good environmentalists don’t like cars.
good travelers want to get somewhere.
good poets know what they’re writing towards.
good explorers don’t want to lose their way.
but this is none of the above.
this is true over good,
flight over fear,
beauty meeting conflict midway and exploding.
california, beloved and betrayed,
you are going nowhere
-at the speed of light-
you are doing everything and finding nothing but windows,
nothing but swimming pool alcohol and
shiny desert highways, when
what you really need it to come clean.
california, you are my fairy tale.
my whole life i have been reading the tears and raptures etched into the pavement of
these sweet city streets.
i love you -completely-
because somebody has to.
i fill my heart to spilling with moth-winged wishes.
i am writing all over these well worn hands
and pressing
inky wrists together in prayer.
now it's summer and beautiful. these last couple weeks have been like a giant breath out, and i'm just starting to breathe in again. between the rain and the sun, i've figured out that nothing has really ended. it's more like snakeskin shed, old lessons ready to be worked into new lives. sometimes i become too absolute, whether it's with a place left or a friendship torn badly, and i want to put things down in a 100% way. but that doesn't resonate this season. it's easy/lazy/unsustainable. what's real is to reform, to burn and build from ashes. this has nothing to do with clinging or clutching and everything to do with quiet joy. the future is still a little scary, a little hazy/vague/cluttered, but i'm smoothing it out slowly. i think it can hold everything i want it to, but i'm not sure yet.
so this is the time to spend long afternoons on the slope of dolores park that faces the setting sun and the j tracks. it's the time for cotton skirts and superhero t-shirts, for lemonade and poetry and saltwater and stars. it's the time for long walks and bike rides and staying up late or getting up early. it's the time for peaches, concerts, day trips and rearranging.
hey you. all of you. please let me know if you're up for an adventure. no one with ice in their eyes need apply, unless that ice is ready to be melted.
this was cal studies:
california girl
A.
as long as i’m moving i’m ok.
as long as i’m moving i’m ok
i am moving through moods like a dancer gone mad
like a swingdance set doubletime
like a break dance. i’m
breaking a little every time i shift my weight.
i was born in a dry season that took 10 years to remember how to rain
and is always on the verge of forgetting again.
my lust for water has driven me towards a
schoolgirl crush on this pacific ocean
this specific ocean’s such a tease
(always lapping
at my ankles
and leaving me
exposed at low tide).
i am
hazy at best
color me cloudy+
call me your sweetheart.
i’m a california girl
and my honeyfolded hills are everywhere
(ridges bristling with grass that is softer from a distance
and oak trees patient for rain).
i am standing at the epicenter of eternity
not looking lost, just considering my options.
like a young girl in a new place
not shy, just taking her time,
wondering which friends she has yet to make
and which ones she’s used up already.
B.
writing slam poetry about nature is like being an environmentalist in this city’s thick heart.
it is two people who think they’ll never fall in love but that’s just ‘cause they haven’t met yet.
it is space and stardust before the big bang, moving forward and backward at the same time.
but i am sitting here trying, and they are trying and we are trying,
we are doing so much more than conjugating, more than echoing-we are learning.
we have learned oceans and watersheds,
have learned the shape of his face when he cries,
the pinkness of her cheeks before she yells with frustration,
the arc of his hands as they dance with anxiety,
and after six weeks you know more than conflict.
you know hearts and minds and bodies,
the curve of a back, the steep slope of shoulders. toes that curl up and then down,
fingers braced against orange as they dig through bitter flesh,
because people cannot help but become human when you see them truly,
and somehow hearts grow wider with time and contradiction
and somehow we become large enough to hold the world as it grows larger within us.
we trained to throw minds to the roadside like trash out of windows,
to take and not give,
to lack patience to stand sweltering in deserts pushing for an answer to every hard question,
and we love to defy expectation.
and when tired we rest heads on hillsides and in streams, by puddles and volcanoes,
rest on fourteen people folded deep in candlelight and snow,
rest on one girl
who once exhaled softly and said
i don’t understand how the world can be bad when people have such a capacity to be beautiful.
C.
every mile is worth a minute
so i have been hovering here for centuries between
sea and sky-
hovering just between
hallowed and full of holes, between
inhale
and exhale.
amazing grace how sweet the sound
of these crashing waves
these pounding beats
these beating hearts
these restless streets
marching in time to an
intrinsic rhythm
buried deep below this dry cracking earth.
and as long as i’m moving i’m ok,
i am moving through these foggy electric arteries
highways pumping bloodcell carparts,
steel-winged angel for the lonely hearts
of the people passing glances at the wreckage
-shaking heads and then just shaking-
i am navigating this epicentral city i call my heart-
‘cause i’m a california girl.
D.
i don’t know why i’m drawn to highways. this isn’t quite true.
highways are like rivers, fierce and fast,
promising escape or at least transportation,
and i like to move.
i like to sit on the little yellow bus and hold in my mouth the speed with which we travel.
this is how we do it: windows open, wind wild down the center isle,
music shifting steady over curves and pebbles.
heads against windows, muscles loose after strain, eyes closed after watching,
breath soft and predictable.
i like to hold in my throat the conflict of it all.
we are bright young things, out to save the world.
we are traveling in a bus, using gas, using roads.
we are solution and problem tied together,
hurtling down pavement hard and bright with wind and sunlight.
good environmentalists don’t like cars.
good travelers want to get somewhere.
good poets know what they’re writing towards.
good explorers don’t want to lose their way.
but this is none of the above.
this is true over good,
flight over fear,
beauty meeting conflict midway and exploding.
california, beloved and betrayed,
you are going nowhere
-at the speed of light-
you are doing everything and finding nothing but windows,
nothing but swimming pool alcohol and
shiny desert highways, when
what you really need it to come clean.
california, you are my fairy tale.
my whole life i have been reading the tears and raptures etched into the pavement of
these sweet city streets.
i love you -completely-
because somebody has to.
i fill my heart to spilling with moth-winged wishes.
i am writing all over these well worn hands
and pressing
inky wrists together in prayer.
now it's summer and beautiful. these last couple weeks have been like a giant breath out, and i'm just starting to breathe in again. between the rain and the sun, i've figured out that nothing has really ended. it's more like snakeskin shed, old lessons ready to be worked into new lives. sometimes i become too absolute, whether it's with a place left or a friendship torn badly, and i want to put things down in a 100% way. but that doesn't resonate this season. it's easy/lazy/unsustainable. what's real is to reform, to burn and build from ashes. this has nothing to do with clinging or clutching and everything to do with quiet joy. the future is still a little scary, a little hazy/vague/cluttered, but i'm smoothing it out slowly. i think it can hold everything i want it to, but i'm not sure yet.
so this is the time to spend long afternoons on the slope of dolores park that faces the setting sun and the j tracks. it's the time for cotton skirts and superhero t-shirts, for lemonade and poetry and saltwater and stars. it's the time for long walks and bike rides and staying up late or getting up early. it's the time for peaches, concerts, day trips and rearranging.
hey you. all of you. please let me know if you're up for an adventure. no one with ice in their eyes need apply, unless that ice is ready to be melted.