Archive for May, 2011

A lovely dream he was in…

While I stood by a bonfire, I was measuring lengths of dental floss by wrapping it around my hand many times. I needed a specific amount. Someone with me, also measuring and cutting, laughed when she asked me why my pieces had to be “the height of an 8-year-old boy.”

You sent pictures that took up the spaces the words didn’t fill. One with both of us standing on a covered dock, looking at artwork that had been hung from a temporary wall. It was about to rain – the camera caught my hair being blown by the wind. I was wearing a lime green shirt and lime green shorts and lime green and orange leg warmers that made me look taller than I am even though I was barefoot. Another with us standing on the same covered dock looking into a reflection of ourselves on a glass door in the wall.  Another photo in a hotel room, lying on the bed, wearing more bright colors, and your caption that
read “lying down you can’t tell how tall i am or how long your legs look.”


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She clicked on the radio, and it wasn’t there.  She waited.  She waited for the one that would finally tell them about  her lovers since November, those moments of panic that rose while he slept with her hand on his stomach, that morning when a thunderstorm flew into the country and blew a gust across the sheets and scattered her lists and movie stubs  across the desk and carpeted floor.

She clicked off the radio and opened the desk drawer too far. It clacked against the bones of her knees. She felt it in her spine. The photos and pens and sticky notes were all in their places and as the sun was going down, she clicked on the lamp beside her bed. Waiting out those glimpses of fear, hoping the lamp would help, turning it off again to feel it swell in her belly.

She built up the pillows against her sides, but her neck was twisted and shoulders tight.  The hum of the fan recounted weight sharing, the fall day when the milk was returned to the pantry and the cereal to  the fridge, smooth skin, wetness on her cheeks, a voice’s hoarse laugh after 7 hours of singing in a silver Toyota, remembering she’s forgotten to miss her.  Her body could not fit any better here, but she couldn’t sleep without them knowing all of this.

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When I’m asked to stay instead of going, I’m reminded of 8th grade and being asked to stay but knowing I had no choice in my going.

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