Crush.

I am
Blushing
And flush
With thoughts
Of your
Handsome face &
Big hands:

I want
To climb
You
Like a magnolia tree.

he

his heart is made
of marshmallow fluff and
bundles of old disposable razors

he is
tall,
but the
kind of tall that is
noticeable from a distance,
like a politician
or a sitcom father.

and on the
sunniest day
of the whole
long, icy winter
he drove her
out
to the path
under the canopy
of bare Tennessee pines,
kissed her neck-
softly-
and grabbed her waist-
not softly-

breathe in and out
rustle on the leaves
feel the air 
             on faces and fingertips

he smells like clove and honey.

devoured

he stared
at me
all night
like
a five course dinner
after a month
lost at
sea

and when he pushed
me up
against
my car
and kissed me
hard and
sweet,
i couldn't
wait
to be
devoured.

Carlotta

Carlotta Marie Green was the funniest of funny. She laughed at all the melted ice cream and cried at all the comedies. When Carlotta was 6 years old she cut off all her hair to look like the neighbor boy Frank, and when she was 14 she kissed him so hard he almost fell backward into the yellow siding of the house.

Carlotta carries a book of quotations with her doodles in the margins. Her favorite skirt is a turquoise circle with big orange rose blossoms scattered across the front. She looks into the sky and says "Hey there universe, can you gimme a break?" That is what her mom used to say. "Can you gimme a break?"

Carlotta was 6 credits away from a degree in biology, and 2 kisses away from an affair with the head of the Spanish department. His  eyes were so dark, and so calm. And he always seems ready for a new shave. But that all seems long ago. Perhaps, Carlotta ponders, it is time to cut her hair again.

When Carlotta thinks about her divorce her eyes water and her upper lip quivers. Then she looks up at that same big sky, that same big swirl of stars. "Can you gimme a break?" she asks.

the christmas present// our relationship

first an empty,
vaulted promise
from his lips

wherein i fulfill
my end
of the bargain
with kindness
and care,

and he
takes all i have
without giving
anything
in return.

role models

i admire the girls
who rest a manicured hand
over the lip of their wine glass,
shake their heads
"oh no, no thank you, that is enough"


the girl who
throws her head back,
twinkle in her eye,
and says
"I made him wait. I made him work for it."


the girls
who
don't sell everything they own
to run away
to Paris,
only to find themselves right back where they started
(The girls who
asked about health insurance, and
apartment fees, and
a 5 year plan)


the girls,
those girls,
who take as prescribed,
rinse and repeat,
and are happy waking up
everyday
next to a nice, stable man
who buys them lingerie from Victoria's Secret
and takes
them to the Cheesecake Factory on
their birthday

The girls happy
to live at 7,
a reasonable
calm
 7

i admire those girls.

i never waved away wine
or turned down cute boys
or stopped before the last piece
or let complacent mean happy

why have a glass
when you can have a a bottle-
that turns giggles into
rolling laughter,
why kiss when you can tangle together?
and why tangle when you can
make the whole
world move beneath you?

why stop at 10 when 12 may be possible?
why watch Sabrina
when you can be Sabrina?

i don't know
where my brain went wrong-
where it sprung a leak.

because asking for more more more
only works
for so long;
when more is never enough,

nothing

is the depth of a heavy heart.

sheets

i've been
waking
every morning with my
pillows on the floor,
the sheets
torn from the corners,
my legs
wrapped
in blankets and air

to
toss and turn
is a cute
bit of phrase
and my mother
says i just
need
to relax and let
myself rest-

but i think my body
is just
working
furiously
to wake up
anywhere
but [here].

resolute

 the driest memories /
 stop / create /
 fill the footprints and green heart and read /
 follow back / 
think / 
grayscale / 
forward moving salt water

get thee to a nunnery

He put on the Mamas and the Papas, which I found endearing. The sweet voice of Mama Cass sung out from the ancient black stereo. I sipped on my peppermint tea while he approached me until he was close enough to grab me hard and pull me close. The tiny tsunami it caused in my tea cup resulted in half of the contents spilling over the mug edge. "Now I smell like a candy cane," I said as I brushed away the drops from my hair and skirt.

"Where have you been?" he asked, taking the tea cup from my hand and placing it on the nightstand.

"I've been around," I said. "I've been busy."

I had been ignoring the occasional evening phone call or flirtatious text for months. But he didn't go on. He didn't mention it. And I didn't mention how I had not missed him a bit, how I didn't think of him- even then while he was in front of me, I wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking about how he needed to dust his dresser, and how the hardwood floor was cold under my bare feet, and how 2013 was ending so quickly without even asking permission.

"I am thinking of joining a convent," I told him while he raised my shirt above my head. "That way I don't have to worry about men or finding a job. Do they allow vibrators in nunneries?"

He chuckled but he didn't talk. We didn't have anything to talk about. I looked at the pulse of his neck and the slope of his shoulders and felt his tall and solid body against mine.

I fell into his evergreen sheets and let him hold me and make me feel good. And for a minute I didn't even think about 2013 ending or broken hearts or peppermint tea. And for that night at least when I reached out in my sleep there was a warm body there-- there were hands to grab me and lips to kiss me.

In the morning I stumbled to find my shoes. "Wanna come over this weekend?" he asked. "I'll think about it," I said. But we both knew I wouldn't. I kissed his cheek, saying goodbye to him and this strange, long year.

haikus about men I have slept with: set eleven

XXXI

tall dark and handsome,

oh- your fingers played me like

high school girls in spring.   

     

XXXII

terrible lover:

After, I gave you a chance -

philanthropy fails.

XXXIII

Always wanting more.

my body.- porn.- the bottle;

I was not enough.                    

for more of this series click  here 

ps: it is a little awkward to do these chronologically now that all the past has been done, but c'est la vie, right darlings?

luna// look up

the moon is on to me,
it looms
tremendous in tonight's sky
like
so many italian love songs.

the blue greys and
silver glares
chalky misty luminescence

don't look down

don't be distracted by
children's lamps and
planetariums

those flashes
are only
distractions
and pipe dreams

and this life
deserves
something authentic-
felt in your tummy and sleepy, triste soul.

firmly putting me in my place

i kept leaving my desk
to sniffle silently in
the bathroom stall,
staring at the the cold tiles.

and at the end of the day
in a moment
of weakness
and utter stupidity
i sent him a message:


"i feel like my whole body is breaking/
--
i just want someone to hold me"

and he said

"well-
if you can come over

 now, 

I can give you 

about an hour"

heartsick

i should know by now
that the ones
who fall fast and hard
are the ones who
leave you quickly and despondent;

at first you glow as bright at the sun
and [too] soon you
are not even a part of his universe.

when i told him
i felt his love
i meant it.
i could feel the warmth in my heart and
the vibrations of
his tenderness.

and then i
saw it drain
from him,
methodically and absolutely,
until I was frantically
searching for a little
beam of luminescence where a floodlight
once existed-

until the only response to
"do you even care about me?"
is a closed door,
and a collection of all of my things in
a cardboard box.

he can add
my name
to the list of things resents-
just file me next to
his family /and his exwife /and his job /his country / christmas trees/ chicken thighs/ tipping/ new orleans/ throwing caution to the wind/ taking chances/ making changes/ being loved


When asked to choose happiness or
misery he chose the blackness;
and when asked to be
with me or alone
he said bleak solitude.

dumb things

here are some dumb things to say:

when it rains, it pours

god won't give you more than you can handle

when life gives you lemons.....

those are really truly dumb things to say.

and do not say those things,

encore: i have been dealt two heartbreaks-

dangle the shiny bob,
sunshine reflecting off of the asphalt mirage,
crash all the kettles in the kitchen.

this man:
who wined me, and dined me, and kissed me all night-
then once
our passports were stamped and our
candles burned out
he can't even tell me he loves me/ cannot even tell me he misses me when I'm not there-

and i get fired from a job
before it is ever in my hands.
she rejects me- softly, i'm sure-
with the worst possible words:
why don't you go back to paris?

as if she knows what is best for me

as if he knows what is best for me.

i don't need cliches, or empty kisses, or letters of recommendation. 

this time i cannot run back home, 

and i'm too broken to run away again.

this is how you excite me

this is how you excite me:

like an 11 year old
girl,
sneaking basement episodes of Real Sex 
on her aunt's HBO:
volume barely audible
and knees shaking, trembling.

like a new
unstamped
passport,
fluttering from the envelope
with promise
and uncertainty.

like a plastic flask
of cheap vodka from
your best
friend's older brother
in the summer night park ,
surrounded by fireflies
and ungiven kisses on fiery 80 proof lips.

like the encore,
pitch black-
then the lights and the kick-drum come
up and
through your body/ your veins,
knowing it is the end
but yearning for
more vibration and delight.

like you do
when you touch me
like you do

blow

this summer
is all
rain (hard and soft)
and
hookah smoke,
perfumed.

October Break

I drank too much at the wedding. Like I had too much to drink the weekend before, and the weekend before that. Surrounded by the celebration and long banquet tables, I downed glass after glass after glass of champagne and danced under the moonlit trees, because at one time that made me happy.  One more glass to happiness.

I remember leaving the wedding but I don't remember getting to your place across town. The in-between was a blur of highway lights and your hip hop on the radio. I knew you were angry. But you wouldn't say so. You never said so. You would just look at me so heartbroken, so let down, as if I was the greatest disappointment. I believe you thought this was kind; but I wanted instead to feel the sting of your words, like I wanted to feel the sting of your hand against my thighs. But you, in your infinite gentleness, would never give me either.

I awoke in your bed in the earliest of morning hours, my deep purple bridesmaid dress crumpled on the floor, bobby pins scattered amok. The red wine stain on the sheet was a messy reminder that I was still searching for that liquid exuberance when we got home. I put my hand to my aching forehead and grasped behind me to the nightstand for a glass of water. After a year and a half in that bed I didn't need to turn the light on. I knew every foot of your studio, like I knew every inch of your body. Every centimeter of your soft lips. I don't remember if I had you that night. I probably did. I probably wanted to feel that closeness from you that only came from your body and not your mind.

You rustled from my movement and faced me. I could see your long dark eyelashes unobscured by your glasses. My face flushed and my eyes welled up with salty tears.

I thought about how scared I was that I was turning 30, and how terrified I was of being back in my hometown, and how devastated I was in my myriad of disappointments. At the time I thought you could make all that better. I thought if I loved you enough I would love myself again. I could not have loved you more, yet I was still covered in layers of heavy worry.

I cried harder, sobbing, burying my head in the blankets.
Then I made you say it. I made you give me those hard, merciless, necessary words.

 "Tell me you don't love me. Tell me you don't want to be with me anymore," I pleaded.

So you did. You said it. It was over. Of course you said you did love me but I could, perhaps for the first time, hear the ting of emptiness in those words.  I cried until I fell asleep from exhaustion, and when I awoke again a few hours later I kissed your beautiful face for the last time, held your solid, tall body in my arms for a last embrace, then walked out of your apartment and your life.

why I turn my phone off at night

alternate title:

that was 6 years ago how did you get this number?

Pretty sure it is XI. He was only brave when drunk.

silly silly silly boys. 

diving bell

in
silence of
July in the morning

I'm awake in
my
white empty sheets

feeling as
the diving bell spider -

what a life
so complicated:
the gift of the sea,

but the beach
excitedly shouts
surrender?

What Happened To Paris, prologue

If you have been so kind to read my writing with any sort of regularity over the past years you may have noticed that I spent a long time traveling back and forth to Paris, which abruptly stopped the last time I left France in March of 2011. I have decided that it has been long enough that I can write up what happened there, and why I may never be able to go back there. I do this for posterity, to clarify how I feel about it, and perhaps as a personal reference. For a long time I wouldn't talk about leaving Paris and why and how, because the sadness weighed so heavy on me the only option was to block it out of my mind and crawl into bed (or someone else's bed). Even some of my closest friends new only the vague details.

I realize based on that paragraph it may sound that something awful and dramatic happened in Paris, and while I suffered many little tragedies that is not the case. But if failure and disappointment could hold a weight I never would have been able to check my luggage coming back home. 

Since I was a little girl I dreamed of moving to France and living life as an expat there. I thought I had planned my life in such a way that it was inevitable. But life often has other plans for us. 

I have started writing the piece and I think it will be three parts, so perhaps another mini series. It may take a bit to finish putting it together but I will try to post it as I complete it. I'll put a link in the sidebar as well. 

I hope you read it and enjoy it, so that at least something good can come out of this, the most difficult time in my life. 

As usual thanks for following this little blog, even though my writing has dropped off significantly these past few years. Perhaps starting with this will inspire me to write more like I used to. 

Bisous partout  -Lucie


PS I am also updating my favorites for the last two years in the favorites list, for easy viewing