She was a white paper package on the doorstep. She was the orange sweater inside.
She was the cool-breezed bumblebee bobbing against the screen door. She was a lion.
She was thank you cards and mystery mail and treasure maps from faraway worlds.
She was the little blades of grass stuck in your hair. She was Paul Simon's scribbled words.
She was a wink and a smile and an invisible laugh.
She was the distant, crackling sky.
10.20.2011
5.27.2011
Man on Top of Fallen Pine Tree
He was stomach down against a grounded pine tree at the edge of a quiet white-flowered meadow, arms wrapped around it like it was a memory of her voice that he was never going to let go.
1.18.2011
Clouds Stood Still
The earth spun and spun and spun. Even the sun was spinning, and it leaked through the newborn clouds. He drove as fast as he could but the earth was spinning too fast against him and he moved nowhere.
The clouds moved nowhere. Three hours and the clouds' colors changed from blue to blue to blue and they grew until they burst on the spinning horizon with the speed and energy of a 50-year-old photograph.
The clouds moved nowhere. Three hours and the clouds' colors changed from blue to blue to blue and they grew until they burst on the spinning horizon with the speed and energy of a 50-year-old photograph.
12.21.2010
10.15.2010
A Man With No Legs and Two Guitars
I sat next to a man with no legs and two guitars. It was the only seat left on the bus and I didn't feel like standing for the ten minute ride to my stop. I don't know why, but it surprised me that he didn't smell. There was a boy in my high school biology class called Carlos with no legs and a shiny electric wheelchair. He smelled awful.
This man was sitting with his head against the window and the two wooden guitars were resting in his disfigured lap. I saw no wheelchair on the bus.
"You're welcome," he said to the window. I watched his hands cradle the wooden guitars. I'm not sure what kind of wood it was, but it was a dark-colored wood that reminded me of the fence behind the house I grew up in - dark, thick slats squeezed together just perfect for me to throw my tennis ball against all day long. I struck out Willie Mays many times against that fence. I threw faster than Nolan Ryan. If they hit it, I was ready in the field to catch the ball and fling it to first base. Sometimes the play was at the plate and I always made a perfect throw to the catcher. I learned to be by myself against that wooden fence.
The crowded bus moved through the slow-motion city.
"You're welcome," he said again to the window, his breath close enough to wet the glass. His pants were cut off and pinned closed where each knee should have been. He had a one-week beard and a naturally bald head.
"You hear me?" he said, and I looked over to him looking at me.
"Pardon me?" I said.
"Wondering if you heard me," he said. "I said you're welcome."
"Thank you," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. My stop was approaching. I stood up and balanced myself against the seat in front of me.
"You'll want to hear me sing," he said as the bus stopped and I moved toward the front. "You'll come back and hear me sing, won't you?"
I glanced back at him as I stepped off the bus, but he wasn't looking at me. His face was to the window again.
The bus moved on and I walked against the slow-motion air to my apartment just up the hill. Twenty years ago my little brother taught me to play a song on his guitar. I don't remember what it was, but I do remember it was only a couple chords even though I'm not even sure what a chord is. Once, I snuck into his room and took his guitar and put it on my lap. I stared at it long enough to imagine every beautiful sound I thought it could possibly make. I haven't touched a guitar since.
As I walked up the steps to my door, I wondered if I'd see the man with no legs and two guitars again. And I wondered if he would be singing. Then I think about my old tennis ball bouncing against the dark-wooded fence, and each time it hits it strums a single strum from my brother's guitar.
This man was sitting with his head against the window and the two wooden guitars were resting in his disfigured lap. I saw no wheelchair on the bus.
"You're welcome," he said to the window. I watched his hands cradle the wooden guitars. I'm not sure what kind of wood it was, but it was a dark-colored wood that reminded me of the fence behind the house I grew up in - dark, thick slats squeezed together just perfect for me to throw my tennis ball against all day long. I struck out Willie Mays many times against that fence. I threw faster than Nolan Ryan. If they hit it, I was ready in the field to catch the ball and fling it to first base. Sometimes the play was at the plate and I always made a perfect throw to the catcher. I learned to be by myself against that wooden fence.
The crowded bus moved through the slow-motion city.
"You're welcome," he said again to the window, his breath close enough to wet the glass. His pants were cut off and pinned closed where each knee should have been. He had a one-week beard and a naturally bald head.
"You hear me?" he said, and I looked over to him looking at me.
"Pardon me?" I said.
"Wondering if you heard me," he said. "I said you're welcome."
"Thank you," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. My stop was approaching. I stood up and balanced myself against the seat in front of me.
"You'll want to hear me sing," he said as the bus stopped and I moved toward the front. "You'll come back and hear me sing, won't you?"
I glanced back at him as I stepped off the bus, but he wasn't looking at me. His face was to the window again.
The bus moved on and I walked against the slow-motion air to my apartment just up the hill. Twenty years ago my little brother taught me to play a song on his guitar. I don't remember what it was, but I do remember it was only a couple chords even though I'm not even sure what a chord is. Once, I snuck into his room and took his guitar and put it on my lap. I stared at it long enough to imagine every beautiful sound I thought it could possibly make. I haven't touched a guitar since.
As I walked up the steps to my door, I wondered if I'd see the man with no legs and two guitars again. And I wondered if he would be singing. Then I think about my old tennis ball bouncing against the dark-wooded fence, and each time it hits it strums a single strum from my brother's guitar.
8.17.2010
All My Stacks
Sure, from here I can suck water from the air, I can move a mountain with a sneeze, I can spit over the edge and watch it wash away a grey-lit city. From here my ice-cream lasts longer. And with one breath I can whistle any whistle I ever wanted to touch my lips.
I can call out her name and she'll hear me no matter where she is.
I can watch the sun orbit the earth and change colors only when it's so close to my eye that it looks the same as the sky. I lean against the moon (I've done this many times). I yawn and swallow stars. I snuggle between atmospheres when I take a nap. From here I can do anything.
But I'm afraid of heights, so please bring me down. Lower me gently and place me on the ground with crooked neck.
I can call out her name and she'll hear me no matter where she is.
I can watch the sun orbit the earth and change colors only when it's so close to my eye that it looks the same as the sky. I lean against the moon (I've done this many times). I yawn and swallow stars. I snuggle between atmospheres when I take a nap. From here I can do anything.
But I'm afraid of heights, so please bring me down. Lower me gently and place me on the ground with crooked neck.
4.02.2010
Clouded Room
He sees himself from different corners of the room. From low against the door. From high against the ceiling. Peeking from behind the dresser, the couch, beneath a pillow. From inside the television. He sees himself in the mirror and leans in closer than he ever has before - face touching face - but he's not exactly sure what he's looking at.
He sees himself in ways he never needed to. He sees himself from the steering wheel. From the power lines whipping by. From the horizons and the places on the other side of the hills.
He inhales a cloud and it tastes like cotton candy.
Press against me, watery air.
He sees himself from the pine cone on the forest floor, rolled flat and covered with a season of debris. From a plane. From the blue painted on the restaurant wall. From inside a sneeze floating in slow motion across the room.
He sees his words as shapes like a mountain ridge. He sees his left hand from his right hand. He sees his feet from his back. He sees his body through the blood flowing through him. From shooting stars the size of suns.
Press against me.
He sees himself in ways he never needed to. He sees himself from the steering wheel. From the power lines whipping by. From the horizons and the places on the other side of the hills.
He inhales a cloud and it tastes like cotton candy.
Press against me, watery air.
He sees himself from the pine cone on the forest floor, rolled flat and covered with a season of debris. From a plane. From the blue painted on the restaurant wall. From inside a sneeze floating in slow motion across the room.
He sees his words as shapes like a mountain ridge. He sees his left hand from his right hand. He sees his feet from his back. He sees his body through the blood flowing through him. From shooting stars the size of suns.
Press against me.
3.10.2010
Empty It and Walk Away
Take it and throw it and watch it bounce round and red. Watch it bounce to a roll and roll to a rest. Run in the moonlight, she says. Run in the moonlight and close your eyes.
"Is this the way it is in California," I say.
"This is California," she says.
"But is this the way it is," I say.
"Have a whiskey," she says.
Wad it and take it and make it resemble the smallest thing you've ever seen and kick it. It's pleased to be dealt with.
Jump on the roof with moon-covered clouds sweating on you. Drenchy drenchy drenchy. The moon soothes, she says. The moon soothes, and close your eyes.
"Is this the way it is in California," I say.
"This is California," she says.
"But is this the way it is," I say.
"Have a whiskey," she says.
Wad it and take it and make it resemble the smallest thing you've ever seen and kick it. It's pleased to be dealt with.
Jump on the roof with moon-covered clouds sweating on you. Drenchy drenchy drenchy. The moon soothes, she says. The moon soothes, and close your eyes.
1.26.2010
Silhouetted
A mattress spring popped when he got into bed. He tugged the blanket up high.
The sun was shining absolute in a clear sky. So was the moon. Stars were as bright as they've ever been. Outside his window, rows of street lamps pulsated with life. The curtains were transparent and the bedroom light wouldn't shut off no matter how many times maintenance had come to fix it. The television blared bright white.
He pulled the blanket over his eyes, but beneath it his body was glowing the same color as a flare soaring through a brightless night.
The sun was shining absolute in a clear sky. So was the moon. Stars were as bright as they've ever been. Outside his window, rows of street lamps pulsated with life. The curtains were transparent and the bedroom light wouldn't shut off no matter how many times maintenance had come to fix it. The television blared bright white.
He pulled the blanket over his eyes, but beneath it his body was glowing the same color as a flare soaring through a brightless night.
1.21.2010
Three Legged Bouncing Cat
A three legged cat bounced across a dusty street. Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing its skinny little head in between shuffling people-feet shuffling up dust.
The three legged cat jumped on a dusty car and lowered itself against the dusty hood and sprawled its body against the dusty sun.
A spaceship zoomed down and took the dusty street's dust and swirled it into a giant dust-swirl and all the shuffling stopped its shuffling as everyone looked through the dust in wonderment when the now dusty spaceship snatched the three legged cat from the dusty hood of the dusty car and zoomed away.
The three legged cat jumped on a dusty car and lowered itself against the dusty hood and sprawled its body against the dusty sun.
A spaceship zoomed down and took the dusty street's dust and swirled it into a giant dust-swirl and all the shuffling stopped its shuffling as everyone looked through the dust in wonderment when the now dusty spaceship snatched the three legged cat from the dusty hood of the dusty car and zoomed away.
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