I prefer the smell of chai to the man sitting in front of me. This is an immediate preference. I'm drinking a chai and the man in front of me reeks of patchouli, hair gel and salty food - food that would give me indigestion were I to eat it. I have indigestion anyway. And my body doesn't fold like it used to. I like the familiarity of buttons. This ( Read more... )

trying to close our mouths to each other our ears. letting the water flow in. is tender the strange and somehow incorruptible heart as it reaches out. we reach for the sides. each man to himself and in another. rocking. how we try to hold onto it.

there's no greater feeling than having liv snuggle into me all tired-like (we're weening her off her naps), then cry when it's time for me to leave - save perhaps my own child doing the same. i walked away from my last nanny job this evening completely at peace ( Read more... )

I've gotten soft. My mind is soft, my belly is soft, my writing is soft. Jelly soft, not babyskin soft. Contentment will do that to a person if they're not careful. Contentment and allowing oneself to age too long too comfortably. Because along with this softness, has also come its reverse. Certain beliefs, certain ways of thinking have begun to ( Read more... )

happiness is not enough

my hands work their way beneath your
shirt as you chop onions. a burst bulb

the kitchen offers only its half-light
a half-life. love is only a half-life.

half settling in the finger's bones to stay,
as if to stay. half going going gone with the

odor of onion washed
from the lines of the palm, the index finger,

the

I've always enjoyed pomegranates. perhaps I'm just drawn to disaster. to inevitability. everybody leaves if they get the chance. I wonder who and where I will be leaving from or returning to next fall. a new season has come to Atlanta, as surprising as ever. I've begun knitting. it's easy to appreciate bead-work and lace in Spring. the dogwoods ( Read more... )

I've been accepted to University of Pittsburgh's MFA program in poetry.

I bought a guitar last night.

I also received my first rejection letter. It was from Washington. I think I'll frame it.

And okay yes, after 6-plus years of absolute sobriety, I have started drinking again. If you think that makes me a hypocrite you're probably right.

thanksgiving reminds me of Lucile. when we arrived she would be in the kitchen, working a pie crust or checking the turkey. her hands covered in flour or some other ingredient, she’d be careful to wipe them in her apron before giving you a hug.

we move a little farther from her as it moves a little closer to us. the familiar clock of nothing ( Read more... )

some fallen, others picked
washed and counted with
the rest of our blessings