habitat, or forgetting things

cheyenne is nestling in the
corner and dan is on the
floor explaining scrabble.
ai is a word. za is another.
and two extra points for this.
piles of blankets and candles
and hot soups, computers,
mackenzie is putting the cramps
on the record player.

he put on his orange hat before he
left, waved goodbye sayin
see ya later.

we have de-flated balloons and rainbow
flags and too many plastic bags
and ali's grandma's doily sittin
on our tv that doesn't work, we
haven't even noticed. i'm
lookin at the want ads askin
when will it be my turn?
its just around the corner,
almost there, i'm the next big
thing. we have pictures of
langhorne slim and tegan and
sara and all those really cool
indie people all our musical
obsessions congruent with our
emotional torrent, our religious
hang ups, the hurricane of events,
the latest break up, the thing he
last said, the unwelcome person,
the person we are trying to be.
sittin on the porch huddled in
the cold spittin we got in a fight
i don't know what to do. and
i have a problem and i'm leavin
the country soon, i'm scared.
we've got books books on social
work and paris and middle eastern
politics and sex and theater movements
and how to teach kids and how to speak
english and some with only photographs.
they be learnin' us good. all the
time busy all the time just
wanting to read our own books
all the time just wanting to
write our own books. about the places
we've been and what we think about
humans and the first time we fell
in love and other less important things.
all the time dancin' dancin' with
skates and dancin' on our green carpet
to old music dancin' with lovers hands
on chests fingers on chins hair brushing
past eyelashes singing lips parting
feelin' good forgetting everything
forgetting about no money for
christmas gifts or rent or bills and
forgetting about addictions and
fights and break ups and sadness
just bein'. just dancin'. just bein'.

when he's not here

when he's not here
i curl up on the right
side a the bed stead a
the left in a c shape
soft music playin'
teddy bear comfyin'
hair sprawlin'
dark black eyelashes
guardin' my dreams
and erasing into
nothingness i'm
wonderin' - why is
danielle back in the
states? did he finish?
what does tomorrow smell
like? and oh i'd give
anything for a soft real
banjo to be playin' in
the other room. i'm
thinkin' my calf is sore.
i'm thinkin' i wish i
was in eureka. and then
i promised never to start
a sentence with i wish.
i'm thinkin' 'bout the dirty
dishes in the sink, his
copper voice, the long day,
what skin feels like.
when he's not here.
i'm thinkin' 'bout
unemployment checks, the
hopeless feeling and dinner
with friends, potatoes and
gravy and goin' home for
the holidays. when he's
not here i'm hopin' he's
thinkin' 'bout me like i
think about september and cities
like we think about next year.
curled up on the right side a
my bed, holdin' my sheets
whisperin' in my pillow
things i'd tell him if he
were here.

i have a friend and

she shared this with me this week. it kept me going.

who says my hand a needle better fits

anne bradstreet's prologue
please oh, please
read this

i think about these things.

i'm a little lost

)peach water
)amoxicillan
)fur
)joshua james
)walk-in
)holding my breath
)"finding myself"

this memoir

every time i see pictures of europe
i want to push in my eyeballs, delete
the image and vomit i crave i crave
cobblestone and english skies and cold
foreign strange air tiny streets bizarre
accents different colours of people
and scarves and new metro stops and
maps and underground apartments turn
my world inside out and communicating
with my hands and seeing my breath and
missing people and walking in boots wearing
black funny phone number little cup of
coffee and learning and writing my book
because i have this memoir that's been in
my head for a while for some reason the
literary world is far more intimidating than
the heinous hollywood which i freely delve
myself into and simultaneously despise. i'm
working on a short bio for an artist collective
i belong to its coming along nicely they're
gonna put it up with a picture and that's me.
i'm swimming in articles about literary agents
and copy editing and submissions and SASE and
applications for school for masters for restaurants
for the "real job" my mom wants me to get
please i really would settle for salary and
benefits its all so confusing because nothing
is really ever good enough but it isn't good
enough now anyways and i surprised myself today
like why didn't i know this. i've known since i
was a kid i'll be a starving artist til the day
i die i wonder why i'm so surprised now that i can't
pay the bills and this is how people do it this is
how people end up at the bank working as a teller
because they got married and got pregnant and then
tell their baby daughter "you can be whatever you
want to be." well i will, dammit. i'm gonna be
whatever i want to be and today, its a starving
artist i had toast for breakfast and then didn't eat
until shawn bought me dinner but life is good
he loves me and i love him. i wrote a new poem,
i called for a casting, i contemplated shakespeare.
i can't wait for the day when i tell my daughter
she can be whatever she wants to be because i
am whatever i wanted to be, we'll be talkin in
english accents.