on a medicine wednesday

listening to led zeppelin and french music
looking out of dark windows, wondering,
big baggy shirts with large armholes
perfume and gilded mirrors standing
upright at the vanity.
my black, shiny asian hair
and my slippery long legs
in my big bed swishing in sheets
with books and clothes lying on top.
wearing stripey things and forgetting
to wash my face before bed.
looking up at george harrison and
thinking about gertrude stein.
having long and drawn out detailed
dreams about job interviews and
waterparks and walking on city streets
with no end.
being solitary and obsessing over my
next birthday and having the itch to
leave. tickets to streetcar and new
schedules and taking photos for
christmas always thinking about
church and eavesdropping on
conversations in coffeeshops
and thinking not much has changed
around here. someone will still
prescribe scripture to save my soul.
a cup of joe to set my head straight
again and a loving word from a
friend and telling myself be happy
be happy be happy be happy.

la môme

thanks,

*kodak 200, yes
*fujifilm SUPER 400, no
*important photos lost
*delicious food found
*new bangs
*old clothes
*sacramento
*casual

d'antoine

sweater me

crawling

walking for
blocks down K street, mounds of
leaves under our feet, boots
clacking, arm in arm, hat on head,
green and red decorations with
gold, a big band, cold air, drizzling
rain. wooden sidewalks, saloons,
a bright yellow bridge.
snapping photos with the old canon.
sittin' just four at the table
with mom and pop's food.
watching home videos, laughing
at my dad's outfits.
"fruka" -
my word for music.
waking up in my parent's
bed, 7am, looking out at
steel blue sky and crawling
tree branches, bare.
bouncing my nephew on
my knee, knowing he's
related to me. making no
plans, sleeping on the
couch, sleeping in my old
room. my dad's showing me
his jazz records, sipping
beaujolais.
this is where he usually sits,
alone, reclined and closed eyes,
soaking in the trumpets,
the bass, the movement and
woes, the swell, the speed,
the slow romance of it all.
now with company, talking
of the iliad, the bronte
sisters, harper lee, miles
davis and the birth of cool.
where he usually sits, alone.

we are feeling welcome,
making jokes, telling old
stories and kissing
cheeks. 1944 photos
of jean and charlie freeland
at bimbo's lounge, san
francisco, 1075 columbus
avenue, roaming around
north beach like us.
being connected and
calm.

we are feeling welcome, yes.
with our own kin and our not.
being autumnal of season,
trying not to try too hard,
walking for blocks,
kissing cheeks,
being calm and connected.

any old place