Tonight, Rat Poison for Dinner

Armpits

New spice and grass, I can
shut my eyes and take it
in anywhere I go—
warm cloves on black fleece, set
deep into clothes I’ve worn
leaving your house when the
morning came in one gust—

One body. Stripped of mine
draped in yours. Buried my
head into your armpit

and breathed in hard. Sound foul?

Well armpits are secretly
lovely, you know. Where else can
an eager young lady
rest after reading Jane
Austen all day and sleep

like an illiterate
child? A perfect nook
for a fine slender neck—

to cradle the hopes and
deranged goals of a girl.

Biding in this space while
aspiring to be the
woman of her own dreams.

Rest In Peace

You taught me the story of Oedipus. And took me to see Romeo and Juliet for the first time. I leaned Othello by your hand. I learned I was funny, I learned I was confident, I learned I could sing in front of people and that joy comes from it. I learned I could memorize Shakespeare when you told me I only had 10 days to do it. I couldn't put down Death of a Salesman in your class. You gave me chances I know I will never have again in life. You gave me the dream that I know I'm destined to fulfill. You gave me the platform to be who I always wanted to be, but never had the courage. Now I know what I want to do with my life, before your encouragement, I never had a clue. I owe it to you that I'm happy where I am.

So I'm sitting here

Just relaxing. That's all. Thought I'd get some reading done. That's all. Thought I could surf the web, and maybe just hang out. JUST THOUGHT I MIGHT. PERHAPS

My Trip To Oklahoma

I woke up, feeling like I was going to fall over, and I hoped that when I did, it would be into some sort of ice cold sports drink pool because I was PARCHED. That's what happens when you drink whiskey "double donna's" that Andy Perez makes for you. I think that when you ask for low fat cream cheese, they just give you less on the actual bagel. Anyway, I drove Jay to get his car from the towing place. It was quite the experience. I get home and Ashley calls me saying there are beer cans all over outside and that our neighbors are going to call a cleanup crew to come and then bill us for it. I hop over the fence outside to find ONE beer bottle. One. A cleanup crew? Seriously? When Ash said "cleanup crew" I literally pictured four meatheaded guys in orange jumpsuits standing there with one of those sticker things and all poking at the ONE beer bottle on the ground.
"That will be one ollar please." The fat one would say to me when he was done.

So I pick it up, throw it out, make sure all the empty 30 pack boxes on OUR DECK are out of sight from the neighbors. Ridiculous. I get in the shower. Warm. Fun. And no one's home so I start singing. The first song that comes into my head? "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" from Oklahoma. So I'm singing "I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's goin' my way!" at the top of my lungs and I can't help but writhe in the irony. Vocal chords don't fail me now! The steam feels wonderful and the soap on my acid-burnt face feels so cleansing. And I can't help but think what the hell I'm going to write for my Art of Female Rebellion class.

Wop-wahhhh.

Just Submitted this to my campus literary magazine. A microfiction.

Panhandles

The stone counter seemed colder to the touch than she had ever imagined, and as she placed her forearms down on top of it, she felt her whole body fill with goose pimples. Her mother was washing the dinner dishes.

“I mean-- her legs, they were like… skeleton bones!” She couldn’t see her mother’s facial expression, but the way her soapy hand flew in the air signaled a vulnerability that couldn’t be masked. “She couldn’t even stand today. She doesn’t eat!” Standing up from the stool and walking to the sink, she cautiously approached her mother’s side. “I really don’t think you girls should see her anymore.” The clunky silver pan was deep, and full of suds. Her mother was almost elbow deep into their tepid, yet welcoming sponginess when tears started looping her cheeks. Still, she held tight onto both ends of the pan and sloshed the soapy water around from end to end, and dumped it out over and over again, until the suds had transformed to faint, clear water bubbles; until the white suds were almost all gone. Neither of them said anything.
The running water and the soft sobbing turned into a synchronized sound, a white noise that they were too tired to acknowledge. She waited for her mother to put down the pan and really let it out. But she kept rinsing and re-rinsing. The silence was long, draining all the sullied hope, the false assurances that her mother might have thought of in that day. She looked to the windowsill above the sink and thought, if her grandmother were doing the dishes, her golden rings would be stacked on top of each other right there, absorbing the cold from the wintery pane. She thought of how she might never see those rings sitting there again.

“Here,” She finally said, holding out the nearest dishcloth “ I’ll dry.”

Her mother placed the wet burden into her hands and stood, witnessing her daughter sweep the smooth silver top, gathering the many constellations of water droplets from each of the corners, the handles, and the bottom of the pan.

1-800-MISSING

So I woke up and my phone was gone. Nowhere to be found. I looked behind my head on my nightstand where I always keep it. Gone. I looked on the floor thinking maybe it fell off during a vigorous vibration. Not there. I looked under my covers, thinking perhaps I accidentally coddled the phone in a sudden stroke of loneliness. Wasn't there. I looked in my bathroom, thinking I made a midnight trip to the toilet/called somebody. You know, multitasking in my sleep. Not there. I ran up into Emma's room in a panic, and she said "Maybe it's in your car". I said, no no it just vanished I swear it. She said "Maybe its in the crack of your bed" I said I already looked there, and of course that was the first place I looked, and it's not there. I asked her to call it from her phone. I walked downstairs following the tinny vibrations and sure enough...

it was in the crack of my bed.

Thank you Emma, for always knowing what to do when I'm in a state of panic.

takin' care of admissions...

2 things:

1. When I was in quick check getting coffee... I heard Aerosmith's "Pink" which I haven't heard in absolutely forever. It made me think of my paper and Belinda, and how I want to do it on "the blush".

There is something very pleasing about folding acceptance letters. I feel like humming.

2. A man called me up before and asked me where to send his daughter's application fee. I told him 1 Normal Avenue, Montclair NJ. He said he should remember it because he went there. I jokingly replied "You went here! And you don't remember!?" He replied , "Well, nobody was normal in the 70's."Pure Gold.

Leaves fall through, dark green enough to be blue.

Listening to Wilco, and trying to blow dry my hair for the day.

When the days are so long, the way I experience them, I like to try to look nice.

Emphasis on try.

And I like to try to smell nice too.

Emphasis on smell.

And sometimes, if I'm feeling lucky, I like to even try to be nice.

Emphasis on be.

There are more of these that I could do, but we'll save them for when I don't have to run out of the door in ten minutes.

Here's my megaphone, but no one is listening.

A quote from a wonderfully smart yet incredibly-resembling-a-yeti fellow English Major:
"I'm afraid to be happy, because then what comes next?"