Saturday, May 14, 2011

Conversation Regret

I can't read my handwriting when I pray
the words come too fast for my hand
His hand
His hands are bleeding and He smeared them on my prayer,
my paper, blurring the page- running the ink
He smeared them on my face, my neck and chest, stomach, legs
down and in between
He put them in my eyes, down my throat,
in my ears
and said, "Put your ear to the sky and listen my darling, everything whispers I love you"
He told me that in a poem and a song.
I felt safe
and I shared too much
Because I know I don't have to carry these sins any more
Because I know I don't have to burden other people with what I have done in the past
it's in the past
paid for.
transaction complete
making in obsolete to vomit my guilt in heaps
on my friends laps, in my family's hair
So God gave me a beat poem
and He took it and He put His hands on it, all over it
and turned it red

Monday, March 21, 2011

The night of the big moon

On nights when Orion is out and there is nothing between you and me but the telephone wires, on this night, can you hear me?
Can you hear me now that the air is tonic? I put my words on the effervescent stars bubbling up to the rim of the sky unobstructed.
If I am ever to have a prayer that You hear, it must be on a night like this one.
Standing beneath an arid Autumn tree, out of place in Spring, a modest breeze swirls the parched leaves too stubborn to fall and "Shush-shhhhhhhshush" my worrisome prayers.
Rock a bye baby in the tree tops.
A Mother hushing my fears away.
The moon came out to play tonight too. Too close this time and got caught in the dry branches- and something else, tied to a twig, shining in its' light, a crystal bell! Bouncing as the leaves shush.
Out of no obligation, but simply a Father indulging His daughters frivolous plea, the bell tinkles.
Yes, on nights like this You are near.
But it's not that You can't hear me on other nights, it's just that on other nights I'm usually inside, and that is a difficult place to see Orion's belt, and it's not possible for a dried up old tree to "Shush!" you, and it certainly is no place at all for a crystal bell to ring by itself!

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Paper beats Rock

The boy said he couldn't fight. That he'd go home with a bloody nose every time, until he started using words.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Going nowhere fast

It's a waterwheel or that thing Astro walks on 50,000 feet in the sky. Escalators are close but not quite, elevators are too claustrophobic and also don't really work. Return to sender mail, boomerangs, cartwheels on a mark, the car in the "Ferris Bueler's Day Off" before it crashes through the window. Jete's. Walking into a room- forgetting what you went in there for- going back to where you were previously. Round-a-bouts, circular doors in New York city, the old "agree to disagree" conversation. M. C. Escher's staircase drawing. The back of shampoo bottles; rinse, lather, repeat. Water molecules

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Bus ride contemplations

I 'm sitting across the aisle from Dick Tracy with Tourette's. He's not dressed like Dick Tracy, He really is Dick Tracy, he's still wearing his name tag on his plaid printed jersey shirt.
I'm thinking about getting an apartment in Freemont
I'm thinking about getting a dog and naming it Fantastic Mr. Fox or maybe just Kevin
I'm thinking about getting a garter tattoo and then I think about getting one around my belly- a dashed line that says Mason Dixen
I think about Colonel Rommel and about the first Yankees to go below the Mason Dixen Line
Dick Tracy just made a sign language gesture for squirrel and then airplane and then mouthed a loud shout
I think about recycling- how when I was the only one doing it I thought "whats the point?" and now that everyone is recycling I think "no one will notice if I don't"
I think about how nice it would be to be 70, retired and close to death
I think about how people keep saying life is short, but to me it seems quite long. very long.

Monday, June 28, 2010


Gay pride parade, sitting on the news stands on pike and 5th. Yelling at the parade to get their swag thrown in my direction. We yell for candy, we yell for beads and coupons. I caught a dollar bill thrown up in the air, a Frisbee, and three 20% off Alaska airline tickets. Leaving the rainbow march, clearly marked by the rainbow- necklaces and stickers and multi-colored pinwheels in my hair. Skittle girls walking through the city get honked at and cat-called.
We catch a bus, #358 to get home, it's packed, hot and stuffy with washed out, dreary people in khaki's, navy's, and whites. I stand in front of a tired women and her son. The sun peeks out from a cloud and hits my necklace and metallic pinwheel, sending thousands of colored sequined reflections on the people and the walls and floor and ceilings of the bus. The boy sees the magic and follows the rainbow spangles up to me and stares. His mother feebly whispers to him in Spanish. But he continues to stare, his podgy little mouth open, too weary to fuss, she holds his plumpish belly next to hers. I pull out the pinwheel and hand it to him. His eyes bulge with excitement but his lips stay in the same open shape. He taps his mother who had just rested her head back and closed her eyes. She whispers sweetly into his ear again and this time he looks at me and mouths the word "thank you". The rest of the ride he watches his new toy in wonderment not knowing what makes it spin or stop. And each time it does one or the other he twitches with joy at how unpredictable it is for him. We come to our stop and as I walk out she touches my hand, she has warm, listless eyes and pink lipstick on, she looks like she works hard. "thank you" she says through a thick accent. I smile and take my rainbows with me off the bus.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

This is the Standard

We were at the top of the Standard downtown, downtown- on the roof. Sharing a triplet of mini cheeseburgers and drinking mint mojitos out of plastic cups. Billy was talking about how i knew too much about weed, more than a good Christian girl should know, and that he thought i was a secret drug lordess- growing a field of it somewhere in Thailand, and we were sitting in the middle of the 5th plague of Egypt.
Those birds swarmed the sky like they were locusts. Millions of black birds, different shapes and sizes but all black. As if every bird in LA came to rally around the columns of business and commerce.
"I think they are lost!" Carissa suggested, "Trapped by the sky scrapers!"
Circling and circling in a giant silver spiral like spawning sardines. Whipping, whirling, and chirping. Our necks started to hurt from the weight of our heads facing the Aves apocalypse. The feathered rapture, it was the inverse of the starry night sky- black on white. It was lovely, bewitching. Carissa said, "you guys, this is a miracle, and we are never going to forget this"