eyeliner, black
i need eyeliner, black. like any teenage girl with an ounce of self-respect, i steal it from the drugstore. under the watchful eye of the pharmacist, Mr. Greenwood, i edge past the magazine rack, read the labels of shampoos before arriving at the heaven that is drugstore makeup. apply lipstick, red, redder, reddest. pretend I’m … Read more
a response to John Ashbery’s Abstentions
not the shy tourist, hopping up the salty steps of Rome. the shy man, sitting on the steps by the Piazza di Spagna, waiting for your Lothario. transparent feelings stream, stream, stream past: curiosity, desire, a wish to know it all. but all of it as it is not. not tall enough, not strong enough, … Read more
the narrator squawks
i dreamt i was narrator of a play. it was impromptu and you were allowed to bring your script on stage. the lights were low and i could barely see my pages. when the lights came up, i was stuck in a ditch beside the road. and the extras were streaming past like prisoners along a … Read more
the art institute of chicago
the museum gifts you with a new painting or sculpture to carry in your heart until you visit again. last time it was a portrait of Lupe Marin by Diego Rivera. it’s skewed. i can’t even. it’s so fucking beautiful. her hands, her hands. there’s a story in those hands and i want to know about … Read more
the beauty of a busted fruit
The Beauty of a Busted Fruit by Natalie Diaz When we were children, we traced out knees, shins, and elbows for the slightest hint of wound, searched them for any sad red-blue scab marking us both victim and survivor. All this before we knew that some wounds can’t heal, before we knew the jagged scars … Read more
abacos
on the airplane, my husband befriends a guy from NJ with two sullen teenage boys. later, at the ferry, we meet them again, only this time the wife is there. she arrived a day early and has bought copious amounts of groceries now piled in a plastic wheelbarrow. she advises us to get a golf … Read more
blank (on the first morning)
the driver accelerates into a steep hairpin curve and my gut is in my throat. i’m thrust forward on the bench seat, and grab for the hand rest, miss, scrabble, try bracing my feet against the metal legs of the front seat and fail. slide across the bench and end up in the middle when … Read more