stories I wrote in high school: "The Algebra Teacher"

I've decided that my algebra teacher is very unsatisfied with her life. Its because of her husband. He is very protective of her. She doesn't enjoy her job. She goes home and grades papers and dreams of beaches and sunsets and bittersweet breezes. She could be a doctor. She could be a professor. But no, she is stuck here in nowheresville suburbia. But she'll get out some day- she'll leave that worthless man and find real love: something that she can never configure with numbers on a chalkboard.

Its strange that I know so much about her, and yet she can't seem to remember my name...

stories I wrote in high school: "She, her, oh"

(this was a story I tried to write from a male perspective)

She sat back against her pillows in her soft, dark negligee. He looked into her eyes as he buttoned up his shirt. He couldn't believe he had done it again. After all this time. After everytime he told himself he wouldn't go back again.

But Jesus, she was beautiful. Her body was a continuous line- dark brunette waves turning to soft slanted shoulders fading to the curves of her hips down the length of her leg. He could look at her forever.

She smiled her crooked smile and stood, pressing her body against his. "Lovely," she said. "Won't you stay?" She pouted her lips and leaned back a little, while gently entangling her leg with his.

"I can't" he said.

"Just as well," she replied as she slipped out of the lingerie and into a big blanket. "I'm going to Paris in two days."

He didn't want to know that. He didn't want to know anything else that she would do or had done. He wished he didn't even know her address. He resented all of this knowledge because he knew deep down that if he got that feeling again- the dark, miserable, empty feeling, he would have to see her again. He knew he would follow her to Paris if he could, if it got too bad.

There she would be waiting for him, with champagne and Vivaldi. There she would let him in and take him in her bed and eat toast in the morning. He just couldn't take it anymore. He loved her too deeply, too passionately to stand. Ecstasy was in her eyes and bliss in her blankets, and his heart continuously broke after each time. All his dreams were within her, and she didn't even care.

He went into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face. He knew he had to just go away. He knew that he had to ignore the dark feeling that came with being without her and eventually it would dull down. He promised himself he would not go back again.

He left through the window to avoid saying goodbye and feeling another kiss on his lips. The goodbye kisses were always half given: if he never received the beginning, he wouldn't have to return for the end.

stories I wrote in high school: "Indecision"

I sat blankly on my bed and stared into my closet. I had a taste in my mouth that was like I had been drinking flat coke. Of course, it wasn't true, because I had been living off of grape juice and poptarts for four days. I just felt like it, you know?

Well, anyway, I was staring at my closet wishing that maybe if I blinked I might open my eyes to something new and exciting, but every time it was the same old clothes. It made me think of the time when I was seven and I put on one of my mother's dresses, but I didn't fill out the top at all (nor the rest of the dress for that matter). I modeled in the mirror, pretending I had a figure, but everytime I looked it was just the same old boring me- so I cut all my hair off with the bathroom scissors. My mom says I get bored with things too quickly. I don't think that's true. After all, I was still eating blueberry poptarts, wasn't I?

One thing I was bored with, though, was Tony. Excruciatingly bored. The way he talked, walked, kissed, sneezed... All of it put me to sleep. So I sat in front of my closet with a clear mission: find a dump Tony outfit. Black... black... I thought, for mourning, of course. I put on a black dress that hung to my knees and added a pink sequin ribbon to hang on my hips that I had so craved at a young age.

One time I went to the mall with Tony. We were in his car, cruising through the parking lot. I saw a parking spot, it must have been about 6 spots back from the front door. But Tony said he though he saw something closer, so instead of listening to me he drove on. Of course, we lost both spots. And isn't that just like Tony? Always looking for something better than what he has right in front of his face. And it drives me crazy.

I took off the black dress and put on a pair of green pants and a black top, but the velvet swirls on the cuffs of the pants seemed too cheery for the occasion.

I remember when Tony bought me a lamp for our anniversary. He said he was trying to be different. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen, but I put it in my room anyway. The base had painted fish on it that looked absolutely demonic. They gave me nightmares until I tied a scarf over them.

I exchanged my pants for a miniskirt and ankle boots, which of course made me change my shirt to a dark blue camisole. But it was too sexy. I didn't want him picturing me naked right before we broke up.

My mind flew back to our first kiss: It was in my backyard, late one humid summer night. He actually asked me if he could kiss me before he did. It was so dorky. So of course I was all ready for it, instead of it being spontaneous and wonderful, as first kisses are supposed to be. I recall the evening to be a disaster.

I threw on outfit after outfit, until I began to realize that I wasn't really worried about alligator belts and a-line skirts, I was procrastinating. And as I sat there, in my robe now, staring into the closet, the phone rang.

It was Tony.

"Hello dollface" he said. Oh, I hated when he called me that.

"Hi Tony" I said flatly.

"Well I was wondering if you wanted to go dancing tonight. The whole crowd should be there?"

"Well," I said. "Well... ok."

"That's great" he said. "And dollface, I love you."

Hearing Tony's amourous words across the line made my face turn pink and I suddenly and briefly forgot about all the previosly overanalyzed faults of his. So maybe he was a little over ambitious, a lot of girls like that in a guy. And so maybe he had strange taste in presents and sometimes he tended to get a little nervous. These things, I thought, are not things to lose someone over.

"I love you too Tony," I said back, smiling. "And puh-lease don't call me dollface," I said with a sigh.

"I'll pick you up at eight. Oh, will you wear that black dress I love with that weird sparkly ribbon thingy?"

As I changed back into my original outfit, I reflected on my problem. I sipped from my glass of grape juice and decided maybe I should go chopping all my hair off everytime I'm bored.

stories I wrote in high school

Seeing as I am (temporarily) squatting at my fathers house, I started searching for my old portfolio of short stories I wrote in high school that I used to send off to Seventeen Magazine- never had one published, though. I thought I could rewrite some of the stories to update them to a more mature perspective. I can't find my portfolio but I did find stacks of notebooks packed with (awful) poetry and scribbled with shorts. I thought I would share some here on the blog- there is a certain sweetness to the naivety (I had hardly been outside of my small southern town). Most stories are about escaping your life for something better, full of people I wish I knew in real life. Hope you enjoy them-- I'll keep digging for the portfolio...

(Ps I was in high school from 1997 to 2001, if you want "cultural context").

apres-moi le deluge

It was my last night in New Orleans, and I went down to the French Quarter to have my cards read. I entered Jackson Square and it was muggy and heavy, the air closing in all around me. Scattered nearby were high school-age students in Jesus T-shirts- some sort of mission trip, I supposed. I avoided their hungry eyes. Wasn't in the mood to talk about my lord and savior, or whatever they were hocking. I stepped carefully over the cracked, uneven cobblestone in my high heels. In front of the church the sound of a single clarinet floated through the air- a street musician working late on a weekday. The breeze, when it was kind enough to rustle, smelled like red pepper and bay leaves.

I sat at the wobbly table set up haphazardly on the side of the park and leaned in: "How much for a reading?" I asked.

"Whatever you would like to donate." she said. She had an honest, calm face, and tattoos peeking from underneath her dress. She was maybe in her 50s. Her hair was a pleasant grey, swept up in a knot on top of her head. Her cards were very worn and slightly torn, bent from excessive handling and reading.

"I need it" I said as I offered my hand to introduce myself.

Jackson Square is a tourist trap. It's a pedestrian mall, park and church in the center of the French Quarter. Slaves used to be executed there if they disobeyed, back in the day. Its also where Bush stood and delivered his speech to a soggy and torn apart city after Katrina. He orated in front of the St. Louis Cathedral, lit by generator after generator, and said, "And all who question the future of the Crescent City need to know there is no way to imagine America without New Orleans, and this great city will rise again."

The city was a disaster when I arrived, three years ago, almost exactly one year after the hurricane had done its damage. Though a year had passed since "the storm," houses were still falling in on themselves, the streets were stacked high with debris, and the mail and garbage services were dubious. On the houses you could still see the faint water line marking where the muck had reached and then sat for days. It smelled like Katrina. Houses were still stained with the big spray-painted Xs: each front door indicated what day it had been searched, by whom, and how many people, people no longer living, were found inside. Sometimes "1 dog" or "2 cats" was also scribbled alongside the macabre marking system. It amazed me that houses that seemed to be inhabited, with cut lawns and fresh rooftops, left these X's up for a long while. In Jackson Square some of these doors were being sold to the tourists, along with Katrina damage bus tours and kitsch t-shirts slandering FEMA.

At that time I was not a disaster: I was fresh from a year abroad after university graduation, wide-eyed and amazed and eager to soak everything in. I wanted to see this city grow and swell with people. But by the time I had sat myself at this unstable card table covered in cheap, metallic fabric, I was the mess. The city I had come to was full of life around me: you could tell by just closing your eyes and listening to that sad, low clarinet sing. I had neighbors on my street. The power would no longer randomly cut out. Tourism was back in full swing. This is not to say that New Orleans had completed its renaissance, but compared to the empty, dark, broken city I had moved into that summer, it was like a completely different world.

And now I was lost. Hopelessly broken and tired. I loved the city and I loved the people in it, but all my spirit had been washed away by my own storm water. I felt defeated, like a failure, and like a disappointment. I felt I had become a completely different person.

She shuffled the cards and then handed them to me so I could cut them several times. We held hands and prayed for protection over the table and the reading. By this point the sun was quickly slipping down over the nearby Mississippi River, giving a tiny relief to the seemingly relentless humidity.

"You have a destiny," she said, laying out cards in a complex pattern. "You have always known what you have wanted in life. But you have been very depressed."

I sighed hard. Depression yes, but if this is my destiny, I thought, the depression is not going anywhere. Her creased hands folded and unfolded the cards, sometimes slowly resting on one or another, adjusting them straight.

"But very recently this depression has had some relief; there is some happiness entering your life." she said. That very week I had decided to postpone the bar exam. I had never felt more free. "You are making the right choices," she said, giving me a reassuring look. "You are an extremely creative person and you are destined to make your living that way. You are optimistic, do not lose that in this dark period." she said. I nodded softly and waited for her to continue.

"There are two men in your life," she said. "One has a lot of issues. He is no good for you. You must get rid of him." This was all what I already knew and had been denying all summer. "The other, he is in control of a lot of things. He loves you and does not like this other man at all. He senses he is bad in your life." Hmmmm, I thought, my father. My father who I was planning on driving to see and stay with the next morning.

She looked me straight in the eye. "Get rid of him, honey." she said matter of factly. "You will be so much happier." I turned and looked toward Decatur Street and Cafe du Monde, where I would meet my boyfriend later to walk to dinner nearby. She saw my brow furrow. "He is a good man," she said. "But he is not good to you. Too much baggage. Is he divorced?" "Yes." I replied.

With two cards to go, she handed me a little good news: the lover. "There will be a new man in your life when you make these changes" she said. "But be careful, you two will be extremely compatible and you must take special care to protect yourself in order to not get pregnant. You don't need that right now." She flipped the last card, the top card, the distant future card. It was the world. "You will travel," she said. "It is in your blood. You want it now, but you can't have it now. It will come. It is written for you."

"Do you see anything else?" I asked. My voice had an air of desperation. I didn't want to yet leave. I wanted more answers, more reassurance, more communication. She chatted with me for a moment longer before grasping my hand to say goodbye. I handed her my money and thanked her several times.

I tottered off towards Cafe du Monde and reflected. My forehead was already beading with tiny moisture from the humidity. I felt dizzy, overwhelmed, while at the same time strangely calm. I spotted the man-who-is-no-good-for-me waiting at a sticky table at the cafe, a large man with a tuba playing not far front him, next to the "beware pickpockets" sign. He kissed my cheek and asked me how it went.

"You don't really think I believe in that stuff, do you?" I laughed. She had made me promise not to tell him.

close//open

They say when one door closes another one opens.

This is not a logical expression: one door closing doesn’t do anything to affect other doors (unless you are on an elevator, I guess).

When one door closes, you have to take action.

When one door closes-

Push it back open,

Pick the lock,

Ring the bell,

When one door closes-

Crawl underneath,

Dig a hole,

Get a ladder,

Or—

If you feel how I do—

Say “meh” and take a nap.

It will open if it wants to

When it wants to.

(I prefer windows.)

bizarre

i had a dream my boyfriend was a dark-haired boy named daniel who had a pet meerkat and performed illegal cosmetic surgery on red-headed twins.

saying goodbye

the house swells
with new orleans
humidity
and old passion
as i pack each box carefully,
and place them
outside.

ode to the swinger

you are more complicated than a thousand piece puzzle, more perplexing than vegan cheese, and, strangely, more intriguing than a 3AM infomercial...

tell me more about your adventures while i curl my body up beside you. (you just like to be held, you said. i haven't had a night like this in years.)

enjoy baton rouge, playboy, and call me sometime.

always making plans

will move north, have a son named Lake and a daughter named Dolores. and i'll make a cake for when you come over.

southern

the saddest girl
to ever hold a
mint julep.

stamp my passport

yearning, ache, ambition, appetite, aspiration, craving, craze, eagerness, fancy, fascination, hankering, hunger, longing, need, passion, thirst, urge, want

his body

A glass of wine

with you

over cheese and

pommes frites at

a place filled

with “such an uptown crowd”

as you put it

was like a

flirting manual out of

some awful women’s magazine

dripping with subscription cards.

She:

Open, towards him

Head tilted

Legs crossed

Leaning in, laughing, touching,

Brushing his knee

He:

Leans back,

Open, strong

Looking right at her

Watching her hand

As it brushes his

Knee

We walked outside to your bicycle

and you hugged me so tight

I kissed your rough cheek and said

‘I’ll call you’

You pulled me close again

And said.... “promise?”

And when you touch me my whole body tingles with anticipation

But I watch as you head back downtown instead of to my bed.....

I like you too much to sleep with you.

its a gamble

delicately place a shiny quarter in the slot machine (the one with the wheels, the lights, the bells-- looks promising, no?)
say a little wish please please please please please this is all i've got
place your hand on the lever and
wrap your fingers around it, tight pull it towards your body
and close your eyes
the machine gently shakes the little lights are blinking
on and off and on
you open your eyes slowly, sit up straight. . . tick tick tick and before you can let out a full breath
the spin comes to a close
one diamond, two diamonds, three diamonds is it a winner? debatable

motivation

White paper

Flashing screen

And yet

After all

The crazy investment

I don’t feel

Mo

Ti

Va

Ted

Why????

Because I don’t want to be a lawyer.

Jesus

I need to get through this

pest deux

the pest i take now is not the same pest as then, but the principle still applies:

What are you doing with yourself Miss Blew? What are you doing with your knife?

My knife is going just fine, take me very much.

It is not sublime! You have to take the pest!!

I am afraid to snake the pest. The pest is so daunting.

The pest is your knife now.

Is this pest the pest I am smirking of?

Yes! That pest! The Less Satisfaction Ample Temperance pest!

I don’t snow why this pest is so deported anyway. It is, after all, just a pest.

Without this pest, Miss Glue, you will not have a slaw office.

I never said I wanted to have a slaw office! I never really wanted to be a slayer. I want to glee the world. I want to see other pantries. I only want to snake the pest so I can go to slaw school and have a good exploration.

Regardless Madam, the pest must be taken. You can’t change the pearls. That’s just how knife is.
from here

ode to the oceanographer

cheesecake
champagne
and a cigarette you smoke with your left hand

i
luff
your bachelor pad

you
have
SUMMER
written all over you

(and i think i looked
everywhere...)

real estate dreams

outdoor fans with wide blades, gathering dust

white front porch with sheer curtains

vintage claw foot bathtub and lavender

recipes written on cards, kept in old library catalog cabinets

a glass for every drink, a flower for every room

request

i will
make you
brunch
if
you kiss my cheeks
and call
me
sweetie pie

quand je suis triste, je pense à

Marriage Numbers Babies Air_Planes

Pills Hips Telephones

Trees Decisions

Ticks and Tocks

Back and Forth

Over and Under

Looking but not Finding.

still

still thinking of you
i
heard you
published
a new
book of
poems

congratulations

is your
girlfriend
catholic
enough for you?

i remember your picture
on the beach,
half asleep
in the sand (shells and coral)
glasses in
hand
after
half-heartedly tossing aside
a copy of
le monde

you had a tummy
like candy
so kissible
and delicious

your eyes were
brown and
deep and
your hair
was an inconceivable mess

i wrote
every
poem about you
when we were
together,

even my favorite ones
when you
left me (and i
normally hate
my poems when i'm
sad)

i guess


i suppose


i assume i am

thinking of you now
perhaps

because i am
in between

like i
was when i met you

in between
and open
and confused
and excited.

i suppose i am thinking of you
because
well,
not because of you,
but because of the
idea of you
and the



idea


of b

e
ing

free. free to make mistakes.



(FN see + and +.)

c. love

when i was
in high school
you were a
goddess

you didn't give a flying....

you put huge sequins in your
styled
bleached
hair

i saw you
at a festival with
my friends, i was maybe
16

you played
hard
and long
and the
sides of the stage burst open
and glitter
fell like
magical snow
i felt like
i was in
heaven

at the
end of the show
you gave away
your guitar
to a guy
near us
in the front row.

then i called my mom
to pick me up

sweaty,
excited,
inspired
(today feels like that, a little)

future perhaps

a
saleswoman
in little pink thing
cracked red lips
at agent provocateur

or perhaps
no

sugar

daddy

is a weird phrase.

why figure things out
when
it is
so nice to be


confused// in between.



if it ain't broke.....

secret number 2

i don't want to be a lawyer.
i changed my mind a long time ago.

three years

tonight is the last night i will spend studying for a law exam.

now that's fucking poetic.

chou

Those

Deep

Rumbly

Harsh Voices

Remind me of the poet

My First French Lover

So Serious

So Catholic

So Lovely

I know

Why

We don’t speak

Anymore (its ok)

Makes what we Had

So much

More

Romatique.

(but I know you still think about me)

it was lovely what we had. i don't question good fortune. i'm just trying to enjoy it, again, in my mind. i hope you are happy (or not, if that's how you want to be).

always pick C

possession
is
nine tenths of
the law

rushes of panic

rushes of calm

for bo

S-E-C-R-_-T

(the blank tile
is an E)

renaissance

pirouette
pirouette

all it needs is a coat of paint!

shhh.... [secret]

last night i did something i've never done before..... quelle celebration (did you like it as much as i did?)

the buzz

you know how
you sometimes
have that ringing...
not ringing....
in your ears...
when something electronic is on around you

like the TV on mute,
or the stereo turned down
or even the slight buzz of
your downstairs neighbors fan......

that slight
hum buzzz hmmm zeeeeeeeep


thats how i feel about you
sometimes.

disappear

check the triangle

i'm
at dancing partner

with


Sally Lou Ritz

cross your fingers

X

X

confidence trick

Have you confidence in me to trust me with your watch until tomorrow?

see you in Poyais, soapy smith,

or in my office on School Street

because everyone knows orphans don't get into Princeton.

truth// fiction; art// life

i don't care about you at all// its amazing how easily we lie to ourselves

everyday poetry

red lipstick on a white paper coffee cup

a perfumed bath and book on tape

a perfect cocktail glass, yellow with red cherry inside, smells like the beach

looking twice

petals showering down from an old bouquet

tra la la in foreign tongues

chocolate then crepe then paper holder then napkin then hand

sharp heels and marble floors click click click

table for two

wait

abide, anticipate, await, bide, bide one's time, dally, delay, expect, fill time, foresee, hang onto your hat, hang out, hold back, hold everything, hold on, hole up, keep shirt on, lie in wait, lie low, linger, look for, look forward to, mark time, put on hold, remain, save it, sit tight,stall, stand by, stay, stay up for, stick around, sweat it, tarry, watch


carry out, do, forge, forward, go, go ahead

an invitation

They are corially invited by this corially (and formally) to spend a few traversing New York days. Oh yeah and you can moreover spend a few times with me. Take 7 shoes with you, therefore we can go the city. We can buy (I do not promise diamonds).

And, if the day is --, we can take a step of return and enjoy our room

; -Jacuzzi, must offer. This offer is during a limited time
-- finally, I receive an older daily newspaper. to chamfer an act.

underwater world

She woke up in a daze. Her head hurt, badly. She didn’t want to open her eyes. The room was muggy and hot. Her body was damp in her thin cotton nightgown. She looked at the clock. 9:oo. Too late to go to class now, and besides she hadn’t done the reading. Shit. She walked out into the living room. Niko had folded up the blankets and straightened the futon: there was a note that said “I went running, call if you want to get breakfast later.” He had done the dishes, too. All the glasses and the late night snack she had made the two of them. She walked into the kitchen and immediately felt nauseated. She sat on the cold linoleum for a moment before dragging herself back to her bed. She slept a few more hours.

She woke up hungry. Hungry for something greasy and fast. She stumbled into the bathroom and took 5 pills: two prozacs, one allergy pill, and two aspirins. She peeled off her nightgown and tossed on a light sundress, not bothering with underwear or make-up. She combed her hair briefly through her fingers and flipped it into a pony tail. She went to the front door and considered for a moment whether she looked too unruly to be outside. She shrugged to herself and opened the door.

Her bike was gone! It was stolen! Who would steal this bike? The gears don’t work and only the left break functions. Oh, wait. She had left it at school the day before. Its probably still there. Crisis averted. She hopped in the car and went to the drive-thru, a fried chicken sandwich and large sweet iced tea. Her head still lightly throbbed; she was so thirsty. When she got back to the house there was a small box on the porch.

She picked it up and looked at the Fed-Ex paper attached to the front. Two day delivery from New York. She carried it upstairs and threw it on her bed. She took a long sip from her plastic sweet tea cup. She began to peel the tape up on one side of the cardboard. Then the other. Then she separated the flaps and peeked inside.

No note. She pulled out some packing paper and picked out a small box wrapped in bubble wrap. It looked like a Christmas ornament. She unraveled the packaging to reveal a small box containing a New York snowglobe. The large white snowflakes sat on the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. She shook it—instant blizzard. Then she let it go calm again. Clear. Calm. Then blizzard again. She wanted to keep the little people in the mini buildings on their toes. Calm, storm, calm, storm, tiny rattle...

She grabbed her cell phone and sent out a text:

Thanks. That was really sweet. I don’t feel like talking today though. But thanks.

She stripped off her sundress and crawled back into the sheets, and slept until evening.

bargaining with a higher power

If I get this job

in Italy

I promise to wear

fake eyelashes and red lipstick everyday

and never ever sulk and

Remember every late night

and write every letter

and learn how to bake bread

and return every phone call, and start

to pull all the days off my day calendar again.

If you give me some direction I’ll take it with bells on,

all forward motion and sidesteps and skips

I will buy fresh flowers every week

and have clean sheets and loose leaf tea

I’ll call everyone more and remember to do my hair.

I will

Open up my heart again

and let the good ones in, I’ll hold them tight and stay all night

I’ll remember to eat

and wake before the alarm

Stop biting my nails and paying late fees

If I get a good chance, if I get a small push

I promise promise promise to be happy again.

locust plague

i haven't abandoned this space
i'm just been climbing up and down a ladder
and think its time to move horizontally

i'll let you know. you look great today, by the way.

deep roots

i
excitedly called
my mother
to tell her
about the
sudden sprouting of my new
gladiola bulbs

"i hope you planted them deep in the ground"
she said
"or they'll fall over"

"they must be deeply planted

or they'll fall over."

not me.

life is sometimes overwhelming. i am at a loss for inspiration. so I leave you with the first words of Eluard that made me love him, long ago as an undergraduate in the south....


La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur,
Un rond de danse et de douceur,
Auréole du temps, berceau nocturne et sûr,
Et si je ne sais plus tout ce que j'ai vécu
C'est que tes yeux ne m'ont pas toujours vu.
Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée,
Roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés,
Ailes couvrant le monde de lumière,
Bateaux chargés du ciel et de la mer,
Chasseurs des bruits et sources de couleurs,
Parfums éclos d'une couvée d'aurores
Qui gît toujours sur la paille des astres,
Comme le jour dépend de l'innocence
Le monde entier dépend de tes yeux purs
Et tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.


I honestly believe these are the first words of the surrealist french movement I learned. Beautiful, no?

mermaid

and the little girl said to the old man in the grey hat:

when I die I will become a mermaid, and every time someone feels that the water is cold in a spot its because I am there, kissing their knees in the ocean.

the beautiful new orleans life

on the radio:
DJ says now we're gonna play something by my neighbor over on julia street; you can't buy the recording but you can stop by the house on thursday nights for a jam session

at the post office:
old woman waiting in line next to me says I wish I had pretty legs , I would wear a dress like that;
i think i wish i wasn't too young to rock that fabulous hat.

in class:
can we drink some run and talk about why the free market doesn't work in venezuala?

and when friends stop by with bottles of wine and mini rose bushes, how can you not smile
smile
smile??

nights like now

there is a yearning
in my
heart
for paris

the yearning that comes
every time
i am
unsure
about the future.

the sky is blue.
the grass is green.
and paris is there if i need it.

a poem?

find me
a job
in (international)
women's
rights

please?

(its my only escape)

gossip

whisper whisper
about the
kindofgirl
to wear
rhinestones
on her stocking

won't you be my neighbor?

i have started a new project for 2009: a photography blog with my lovely friend in London. i am posting under the name Basil L'americaine.

check it out if you would like: neighbor//neighbour

i will still write all my poetry and fiction here, bien sur.

happy new year kittens.

dear mr beautiful

(at home for the holidays i found this letter i wrote a while ago. i don't even remember who i wrote it to or when: i think its better that way)

Dear Mr Beautiful,

You are very charming. Smooth. Slippery. And I needed to be kissed like that. But its all over before it begins. Because you already made it very clear that you are in love with someone else, and that’s where I stand. And though I don’t feel it now, I can see things developing. I can see myself envisioning chilly nights with foreign dinners, listening to songs with your face in my head, picking out wine with your taste in mind. Because I can see you are dangerous. Meanwhile you’ll be writing postcards across the sea to a girl I’ll never be, while I look at the dent on my pillow. So let me save you some time, and save myself some money on lacy lingerie- because no matter what I wear I’m still me and no matter what you do I’ll blame myself.

Thanks anyway,

me