and no one tells me where the ocean begins..
and so i come
and disappear
i feel like i can no longer
write for pleasure
i'm sick of these keys and
computer screen
and switching between windows
and charting financial aid dates
i want to scoop a hole
into the wooden floorboards
for my body to fall into
dive into the wreck, dive into the wreck
i want nothing more but warmth
sleep and darkness
and the dreams of earthworms and
the good mornings of cobwebs
and from down in my depths
i will push up blossoms
and wring the rain water from the
mouths of grass blades
from my cavity
my cradle of bolts
and caked mud
i will say "how do you do" to those
that scuttle and those than crawl
i will draw your faces on the pebbles
and have midday conversations
with your decapitated heads
i feel this world will be pleasant
my skin will fade
turn clear
translucent with cool condensation
of dirt and seed
and the rush of blood in my veins
will light up the underworld
winter has come and
decided to stay
pushing blunt shoulders
reminiscent of mountain tops
into the thin grooves of my walls
winter and wind and bitter cold
have become my lovers
after i turn off my bedroom light
they are my companions
underneath the crocheted covers
my grandmother tediously tied
and knotted together
(sometimes i imagine her
grooved fingertips running across
this blanket
walking on the tops of my knees and nose
her hands moving in the night like
doves or kites
bobbing in and out
thread saluting behind)
and i love the cold
i love my new partner
that commands the hairs on my arms
to stand at attention
and i love falling asleep to the soft
chatter of rain and waking up
to it's silence
the hard shining of ice
the pools of water haven gotten into a fight
and no longer talking
i love everything about december
january
february
their naked branches with no shame
their sharp air and steamy words
it's all wonderful and beautiful
i don't care what any of you summer people say
you can take your sweat and humidity
and run with it.
the smell of oranges is
rising in the air
i don't think citrus and
down jackets coincide
currently my brother
sits in the other room
back rounded like the curve
of the earth head diving up
and down into the canyon
his arms have created
in between which lies a pool
of black ink
white sheet
pens tossed about
he is in his element
his breathing is slow
each exhale curling about his fist
that slowly trails his paint
across the page
i think art is fascinating..
and i think anyone who can draw is
fantastic
i have a deep admiration for those
who can take what i see in letters
and words and translate it
into a whole new medium
of color and shapes
it's as if they can speak a whole new language
that i cannot even begin to form
in my mouth
i also happen to find something
incredibly attractive in a man
with hands dirty with ink
paint or dye
my sister
is thousands of miles away
in a state of snow and mountains
she's in colarado
and i haven't seen her since
early august
i miss her terribly.
i miss her laugh and her long fingers
and the grace with which she walks
and the deep guttural sound of
her voice
and the confused look with which she wakes
and the way she wraps telephone cords
around her legs
i think the most exciting part about christmas
for me is going to be her return
on sunday we get our tree
and on sunday she'll be home
and everything will be how it is every year
with her and i taking over the decorating process
looping our limbs together and
in between the gaps of branches
standing on top of chairs
bodies smelling crisp with the sap of the pine
and christmas songs will be loud
and we will sing "last christmas..i gave you my heart.."
with rediculous choreographed moves
and everything will be dizzy and bright
twinkling like glass stars
and i am excited.
oh. and i find out
about brown
tomorrow.
i hope
i forget to check
just so i don't have to
face the world on friday
with a look that tells
the whole school
what the university
thought of me.
c
and disappear
i feel like i can no longer
write for pleasure
i'm sick of these keys and
computer screen
and switching between windows
and charting financial aid dates
i want to scoop a hole
into the wooden floorboards
for my body to fall into
dive into the wreck, dive into the wreck
i want nothing more but warmth
sleep and darkness
and the dreams of earthworms and
the good mornings of cobwebs
and from down in my depths
i will push up blossoms
and wring the rain water from the
mouths of grass blades
from my cavity
my cradle of bolts
and caked mud
i will say "how do you do" to those
that scuttle and those than crawl
i will draw your faces on the pebbles
and have midday conversations
with your decapitated heads
i feel this world will be pleasant
my skin will fade
turn clear
translucent with cool condensation
of dirt and seed
and the rush of blood in my veins
will light up the underworld
winter has come and
decided to stay
pushing blunt shoulders
reminiscent of mountain tops
into the thin grooves of my walls
winter and wind and bitter cold
have become my lovers
after i turn off my bedroom light
they are my companions
underneath the crocheted covers
my grandmother tediously tied
and knotted together
(sometimes i imagine her
grooved fingertips running across
this blanket
walking on the tops of my knees and nose
her hands moving in the night like
doves or kites
bobbing in and out
thread saluting behind)
and i love the cold
i love my new partner
that commands the hairs on my arms
to stand at attention
and i love falling asleep to the soft
chatter of rain and waking up
to it's silence
the hard shining of ice
the pools of water haven gotten into a fight
and no longer talking
i love everything about december
january
february
their naked branches with no shame
their sharp air and steamy words
it's all wonderful and beautiful
i don't care what any of you summer people say
you can take your sweat and humidity
and run with it.
the smell of oranges is
rising in the air
i don't think citrus and
down jackets coincide
currently my brother
sits in the other room
back rounded like the curve
of the earth head diving up
and down into the canyon
his arms have created
in between which lies a pool
of black ink
white sheet
pens tossed about
he is in his element
his breathing is slow
each exhale curling about his fist
that slowly trails his paint
across the page
i think art is fascinating..
and i think anyone who can draw is
fantastic
i have a deep admiration for those
who can take what i see in letters
and words and translate it
into a whole new medium
of color and shapes
it's as if they can speak a whole new language
that i cannot even begin to form
in my mouth
i also happen to find something
incredibly attractive in a man
with hands dirty with ink
paint or dye
my sister
is thousands of miles away
in a state of snow and mountains
she's in colarado
and i haven't seen her since
early august
i miss her terribly.
i miss her laugh and her long fingers
and the grace with which she walks
and the deep guttural sound of
her voice
and the confused look with which she wakes
and the way she wraps telephone cords
around her legs
i think the most exciting part about christmas
for me is going to be her return
on sunday we get our tree
and on sunday she'll be home
and everything will be how it is every year
with her and i taking over the decorating process
looping our limbs together and
in between the gaps of branches
standing on top of chairs
bodies smelling crisp with the sap of the pine
and christmas songs will be loud
and we will sing "last christmas..i gave you my heart.."
with rediculous choreographed moves
and everything will be dizzy and bright
twinkling like glass stars
and i am excited.
oh. and i find out
about brown
tomorrow.
i hope
i forget to check
just so i don't have to
face the world on friday
with a look that tells
the whole school
what the university
thought of me.
c