Necklace of Teeth
The time to become all my dreams soaring high and wide
to manifest orchards of apples, pears, peaches
remember the book you lived in?
She lived on a peach orchard, and young man slid his hand up her skirt
on the peach orchard
The selfish landscape
I want to bathe in
calendars like sweet honey & coconut milk
enter the right part of each moment
You write one letter
next moment you do the same
at 10:00am you clean the mirror
stare at yourself for 10 minutes
notice the beginning of lines on the forehead
the proximity of gravity, sleeping positions, and a map of your future unfurls
from the pineal gland
Compression like screaming is the sound in the lungs
the kind of silence that screams
you align
the clock is no friend
from where is your cake?
25 birthdays and you never ate cake
what the fuck is wrong with you ?
What the fuck is wrong with you ?
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU ?!?!?
You can't love or think clearly
cut off from the world in that glass castle
but its glass -
so pretty, so clear when Windexed
A tiny world from the pit of your mind is more than enough to keep you busy, for hours
preparation for the next moment
and the next - that fancy dinner
that casual dinner
that spontaneous flea market
the mundane work that pays half the bills
the walk in the park
the filling a journal
the Youtube escapade
trailers are more fun than movies anyways
the planning and crying over the past incidents where you are nothing but guilty
But you know how to dig within, fuck the knots that bind to a clock
the voices that slip inside humming deception like lullabies
They call it stuckness
muddy feet look fun though
trudging through the Evergreen-filled forests
your best friends are always there
can anyone else say that? The ferns, the moths, the fog, the ants, the squirrels,
they can throw you a surprise party at any moment
can anyone else say that ?
CAN ANYONE ELSE SAY THAT ?!
I know it bothers you
who acts as the maker?
Let the making eternally float
high highs
low lows-
that lead down the garden pathway towards a quartz crystal
In a turn of events I tried to fit all the men in my life into a large stewing pot
surprisingly they fit
I boiled it down to dicks and teeth
threw dicks into the compost bin
they say it makes good fertilizer
i'm skeptical
fastened teeth as a lovely necklace
Look how she glows they'll say
with the marble and white pearls
If you peer close enough you see it's written
“My time belongs to no man
it is given at the party
divided among the women”
now my priorities are straight
In a contradictory turn of events
I whisper in the cutest man's ear
“I platonically want you to eat me out”
He jerks off in front of me and we go our separate ways
I cried three times today
like breakfast lunch and dinner are important
like three meals a day
keeps sanity at bay
I run home quickly
passing a man with a mustache
Does he want to cry
Or sneeze?
I arrive home, grab the internet and beg it to help me HEAL
“HEAL ME” I wail oceans onto the carpet
“HEAL ME! ISN'T THAT WHY YOU WERE INVENTED?!
TO HEAL ASSHOLES AND TERRIBLE BELIEVERS IN NOTHING !?!?”
Gulping down the last moments
orange juice with pulp from the fridge
the kitchen is not bare:
there are bowls of Peaches
bowls of Apples
bowls of Pears
an orchard growing in my living room
honey bees swarming
I may pluck with two fingers
I may stand on two feet
I may stretch out two hands
I may cry like a free bird
humming to my damn self
tears make the best swimming holes
Grief Trick
Preparing for her death
was a creature puking grief in my body
crawling through each vein
dragging itself on two elbows
sick with burning, gasping for air
to the tips of my index fingers
greens and greys, browns and blues /
Sitting on the kitchen floor
the best place to cry - the little lake like the shallow tide pools
reminders of summer nights at the Oregon coast
old movie theaters, her glistening eyes up at the screen
storing her gaze of wonder in a jar
I take it out when the life in them goes limp
We sewed quilts and blankets, cradles of love during the nightmarish moments of everyday
the no-bullshit attitude sharpens during
evening strolls in New York City
alarming and admirable, codeswitching every other block
impressive sushi nights at our favorite spot
back to playground cartwheels
her hands swinging me, splashing smiles /
Ignoring her possible death
like pretending the toilet doesn't get dirty
wishing to return to her womb
what fire crackled me out /
Let me swim inside again
collect nutrients for my cracking bones, chipping nails, narrow feet, and brown nipples with single drops of melanin
allow me the tiny circle that carries whole houses
let me repair the windows
listen as they whisper apologies
they did not mean to rot /
The love she injected inside of me, grew up and out, through and back,
it is my height and width, the pace I walk, the way I sway and linger for too long
carrying piles of books, like the world might burn the rest
the soft heart and harsh cackle, unapologetic and uncontainable /
The DNA double helix existed long before it was defined,
long before microscopes and chemotherapy
long before chunks of hair filled my palms as I held her
The mighty mitochondria coursed through each of us long before it was defined
like her love and this poem
the definition is unnecessary, the expression is more than enough
I scraped my knee and her eager doctors coat was waiting with a band aid
excitement she couldn’t contain, that existed before the scrape
A major in sculpture, a minor in creative writing and cleaning up puke
stuck in the community of grunge-punk I had hoped to graduate from years ago
bed wetted sheets and conversations of catheters merged with drunken dorm nights
jokes about encrusting hers with fake jewels
or mirrors of her writing, like mine
no, my writing, like hers
A mystery is a mother
what secrets will she take to the grave?
however many, a cherry tree will grow
in Springtime teeth will seep into each sweet bite
discovering her long ago lovers
her mother setting fire to the apartment
the abandoning of me and my sister for work
the crown of guilt tasting tart on my tongue
Knowing she would live
made every movement of continents more possible
a clean bathroom floor
free from the puke made in her belly
the photo curled at the bottom of Berlin hallway
her chin tilts to the right
European bone structure
covered by light brown skin
her eyes gaze towards dreamers, hopers, wishers, sailors-
from one coast to the next
my sailboat to hers
She occupies the space between
like no other inbetweener I know
Jamaican summers in Saint Ann and Irish disownment – cast out because of skin color
a professional doctor’s voice by day, a diva attitude by night
an identity pioneer, bridging cultures and continents, contradictions and structure
preserved innocence yet easily tipsy and mischievous
Collard greens and plantain or frozen waffles for dinner
a woman worth admiring from the moment she wakes up
to the moment she rests each self to bed
Pausing preparation for her (inevitable) death
like walking out of a sad movie
how twisted with grief
who can sit through the horror
lets make midnight pancakes and gossip instead
Longing to avoid the shock, deal with it before it arrives
to kill the creature of grief that has set up a bed in my heart
expel it from the body, cast it back out to sea, let it drown in the storm /
Allow the gentle wander
I inherited from her, city to city
Cascade mountains to Buddhist Christmas events
we arrive just in time
we arrived just in time
we will arrive just in time
Although the ending unknown, it existed before it arrived
a single life so small, complete as a circle
I’m holding her before I take my first breath and as she will take her last
she’s holding me as I take my last and before my first
Quantum equals, hands swinging side by side, content and shy
together wind moves us towards the smell of French toast
early morning paired with hot chocolate
the dollop of whip cream leaning over
sitting in our classic diner
mom gets the check
Flash Fiction
DISAPPEARING
I say it like it’s true and real, I say it to myself, to cradle the little me in two hands.
She’s disappearing. Not like that, not before my very eyes, but behind my back. I turn around to hold her and another chunk of her body is gone. This time it was the left arm. We were walking around Prospect Park in Brooklyn, watching the trees grow slowly, the plastic chip bags gathering near the curbs. We walked slowly, nowhere to be, just in each other’s company.
She always said “I want to die in New York City. I was born here; I’m going to die here.” It sounds beautiful doesn’t it? A life lived all over the world, but ending full circle. She’s working on a short story. The working title is “A visitor.” It’s about me visiting her grave once she’s completely disappeared. “You have to plant a cherry tree in the exact spot I’m buried,” she says. I say, “Anything you want, but what should I do with the cherries?” “Eat them, obviously. Maybe make a pie.”
I almost forget she’s disappearing. The sun shining on us like this walk through the green patch of city is endless. The trees don’t look that tall, not compared to Seattle Evergreens. I can actually see the top, they have ends.
In my head I’m still cradling myself during the walk. Like when a part of her disappears, I go with it. I have no control, but I’m trying to make jokes and laugh normally. She laughs at everything, the old rickety man rollerblading by. A half-cruel laugh, “Look at him go!” She smiles.
I have no doubt that once her body disappears the laugh will remain. Not like that, not just in my memory, but out in the real air, a sound ringing, that everyone in the park can hear. “Let’s go” she says, “Lets go get lunch at your aunties.”
Douglas Fir
Dad sent me the longest email he’s ever sent. It was two paragraphs I think, many sentences. He bought a real mattress for guests, instead of the tattered one found on the side of the road. We had a conversation last time I visited—no, I gave him a talking to. Told him he sucks at staying in touch. Needs to say more about his life every once in a while.
Usually emails are only three sentences—mentioning everything is well and the Botanical Garden he lives next door to looks good. He’s becoming a tree expert. With the amount of factual information he fits in his brain he could be one of the most knowledgeable tree experts in the world.
I read the email over and over and cried a little. Maybe it’s the first time he’s listened to me. Maybe, somehow, he’s emotionally growing. He never says the words “I love you,” even when I say them to him, usually in a hurried whisper as we hug goodbye. But based on this email length alone—he declared love for his daughter.
I worry about him. Less these days since he has the Botanical Garden and trees to memorize. So many trees in the world. I picture him sitting on the sea blue couch, legs propped up with a thick book between his hands, glasses at the edge of his nose. I wonder if he’ll talk about mom on this upcoming trip. Finally, he’s processing. The wheels are rotating. I know the trees are a way to hide away under the canopy, but one cannot always stop a fierce thunderstorm from knocking a few Douglas Firs down and the light pressing through.