We have notes on yellow and
purple paper hanging around
this house -
on walls
ledges
computer screens
reminding us of appointments
and grammar rules
and outstanding bills that
somehow
have to get paid.
I wish these notes
could help me remember
that the wind still blows,
sometimes like running horses.
Friday, September 24, 2010
24/104: No one really wants that
I want to write you one thousand words
to let you know exactly.
But when I start, it seems all those words
that might be perfect
are all used up.
I need you to know somethings
and I need to know somethings,
but everything is clumsy.
to let you know exactly.
But when I start, it seems all those words
that might be perfect
are all used up.
I need you to know somethings
and I need to know somethings,
but everything is clumsy.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
23/104: Excerpts from a Letter to a Baby Who Won't Ever be Born
-I'm not even sure I could tell you about regret;
maybe in 20 years.
-Grief is okay; hurting down to your bones and
crying until your throat bleeds is quite alright.
Surround yourself with people who understand that.
-Love people hard.
-Expectations are rarely met.
- Human beings are mean, full of potential to
destroy everything, but so full of love it makes
me explode. It's difficult remembering both of those facts
at the same time. Practice.
-Laugh loudly.
maybe in 20 years.
-Grief is okay; hurting down to your bones and
crying until your throat bleeds is quite alright.
Surround yourself with people who understand that.
-Love people hard.
-Expectations are rarely met.
- Human beings are mean, full of potential to
destroy everything, but so full of love it makes
me explode. It's difficult remembering both of those facts
at the same time. Practice.
-Laugh loudly.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
22/104: Outskirts of Tbilisi
There's a long stretching rift in your perfect summer day.
Standing on the shore with tiny blue shorts
and a rib cage that's not ashamed to tell your age,
you chat with your friends.
Your wings are busting out of your back
and those nipples, jesus christ, they're so tiny.
And your floppy hair...
everything is so young to this earth.
Breathe in this warmth.
Soon Russia's shadow will blot out the sun
and you'll be blistering your hands
working for the rail way.
Standing on the shore with tiny blue shorts
and a rib cage that's not ashamed to tell your age,
you chat with your friends.
Your wings are busting out of your back
and those nipples, jesus christ, they're so tiny.
And your floppy hair...
everything is so young to this earth.
Breathe in this warmth.
Soon Russia's shadow will blot out the sun
and you'll be blistering your hands
working for the rail way.
Monday, September 6, 2010
21/104: The baby is sick
Things move at a certain pace around here.
I sit and my heart's rhythm is Ray Charles
or just a cadence with the wind.
I don't know.
The afternoon sun sneaks through the trees
and comes right in these windows.
I don't have a bra on
I haven't thought about socks for days
and I can say 'fuck' any time I'd like.
(I prefer it this way, believe it or not)
I can't imagine a life where the phrase
"The kids need shoes" would ever leave my mouth.
Hallelujah for this life.
I sit and my heart's rhythm is Ray Charles
or just a cadence with the wind.
I don't know.
The afternoon sun sneaks through the trees
and comes right in these windows.
I don't have a bra on
I haven't thought about socks for days
and I can say 'fuck' any time I'd like.
(I prefer it this way, believe it or not)
I can't imagine a life where the phrase
"The kids need shoes" would ever leave my mouth.
Hallelujah for this life.
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