June 13, 2021
June, again. That’s okay. We’ll make it through.
Remember, June asks for very little. You only need to find shade and wash behind your ears at the end of the day. June does the rest.
See, June takes me to the sunset. June opens my eyes for me. And June reminds me to blink.
Mostly, June tells me not to worry.
I watch slugs sit in circles of salt until June turns on the rain.
And June waits, impatiently, at the window, while I watch tonsil stone removal videos for hours.
Later, June assures me…
May 19, 2021
You’ll be happy to know that the other day, during a regular shop, I bought something I wanted but didn’t need. A box grater. I haven’t owned one in the past. I thought anything a cheesegrater can do I can do with a sharp knife and some patience. But I bought the grater and some olive oil and a net of lemons, and I carried them home to my yellow kitchen.
There, I washed rice and fried garlic and onion and cumin seeds. And I shredded a small garden of zucchini in seconds. That box…
April 25, 2021
Some weeks the shop feels impossible. But not today. The walk over felt as long as I wanted it to feel, and the tea I was looking for was exactly where I wanted it to be. In the aisle where it always is. And over the speakers, they were playing this really dancey pop song: “If I cannot get it right now/ I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it at all.”
The 2017 earworm by German singer/songwriter Kim Petras was described by Noisey writer Colin Joyce as a “glitzy paean…
March 21, 2021
Today, I nurse an old hurt. With one hand, I write to you. With the other, I hold a bag of frozen peas to my shoulder in vain. I can’t reach the ache on my own. I’ve created a funhouse of all the mirrors I have, and still, I can’t see the wound. But I know it’s there, and I know that it is a deep, swirling scene. A mess of sickly yellows and blues.
I slipped on the sidewalk last month. Lost my footing entirely and crashed into a snowbank. …
February 21, 2021
The week was cold and quiet. The plumber came to fix the sink. He stopped the drip but now the handles turn the wrong way. Out instead of in. It’s like that one Richard Siken quote,
“I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don’t want them, so I take them back and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists.”
January 9, 2021
Yes, birds. And heights, merging, and public speaking. When I say public speaking, I don’t mean delivering a speech to an audience, I mean speaking to anyone I’ve known for less than five years—in or out of public, really. I worry that I’ll say the wrong thing, that I’ll be misunderstood, that I’ll be speechless. That these mistakes will leave me solitary, speaking only to myself, writing letters to no one.
If you cannot wrap your head around this fear, I invite you, my dear friend, to imagine this: you’re in love with a beautiful…
December 13, 2020
Let me tell you about my yellow house. The taps leak and I listen. The kitchen is warm and dark. The ceilings are low. The windowsills are as good and deep as any desk. Please know that I write to you from my yellow house.
I hold my pen in my teeth (you hate this) and I look out the window at the small patch of grass that grows between the yellow wall and the old fence. …
November 24, 2020
That’s you, by the way. That’s who I need you to be. I can be who you need me to be, too. No matter what, we aren’t who we are, and this isn’t real. That’s what we’re doing here—pretending.
Maybe, instead of being people, we can be two houses on a long street lined with so many fruit trees that the pavement is slimy with pulp. And beautiful people live inside of us. And at the end of the day, they are so happy to come home and we are so happy to house them…
“At four…I could make myself invisible by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.” — Billy Collins, On Turning Ten
Happy birthday, Billy. Remember when you were so broken up about turning ten? How terrified you were. Certain that, from then on, you’d be forced to wander through sorrow wearing nothing but sneakers, bleeding nothing but blood.
Today you turn seventy-nine.
Billy, if you were my good friend, and I so wish that you were, I would throw you a party. I’d make you a cake with seventy-nine blazing candles. I would set the small bonfire in front of…
“Nothing happens here except that I write and write, and curse and burn.” – Virginia Woolf