Tuesday, October 2, 2012

rainy day

black boots
black stockings
black dress
black coat
black messenger hat
black bag
black nail polish
hideously huge pepto-bismol pink umbrella with psychedelic flower pattern.

cool factor = 0
so close.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Into the West

When I think of him, I remember the way he taught me to shoot a gun. Steady, with the sound of the forest ringing in my ears. His hand curled around mine, the rifle metal cold against my cheek. Eyes open, breathe, breathe he'd say.

He taught me to chop firewood, to swirl bourbon in a glass, watch the light shine on it amber and gold.
He taught us to pick wild huckleberries, listen for bird songs in the woods
and wait for stars to light the sky.

He always said that death wasn't something to fear.
It was an old friend, and he'd seen it often.
It's a welcoming, he'd say. Life in its cruelty was what should be defied.
Be kind, he said. Life is already cruel enough.

He told me of a place by a river, deep trees
A quiet wind, blue birds, honeysuckle and green hills.
Where dead men, now living
and the echoes of the past became still.

I think it was where he longed for
a place where cruelty was made right
sorrow and disease banished.
Where stolen memory is returned, stolen lives reclaimed.
a woman stands straight again with remembered love
and a young girl breathes free
and deep
able to outrun the wind.
There is sunlight
and stars and everything
is the way it should be.

I never knew how to end letters,
and I wish now that there were more postscripts to add.

I know that he did not fear forever.
And yet, I cannot bear
to imagine a world
without someone as good as him in it.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012



Bourbon and tea. bourbon cut with tea. or tea cut with bourbon? I'm not really sure which it is, it's basically equal parts of both.

surrounded by snoring dogs who cuddle aggressively.

I wondered if the world was going to end,
and wouldn't that be a horrible thing - although I had a rather long and pointless discussion with my mother over this. Apparently it's not horrible - apparently it's what we are 'supposed' to be waiting for.

I tutored an influx of boarding school students, dozens and dozens of discussions about Of Mice and Men and Great Gatsby. Some more clever and in-depth than others (the meaning of mercy, the significance of a dreary landscape, the juxtaposition of man and animal, man dehumanized) and others not as much (dreams are important, the ending was depressing, rich people are mean)

Taking meditation classes,
I was told I was bathed in white light
It was such a beautiful image. I wish I could have kept it always.