3.31.2020 - extubation

-

 draft begets draft begets draft, 

and they are written in ink, lead, blood, stars.

words are etched into the backs of closed eyes, one dose of 'i want to believe again,' every four to six hours as needed. frantically scribble in journals, prn. you can't help but reach for the chemical calamine of a drawn up syringe, with acid rain on fluttering eyelids and one last letter in the mail.

one right turn down the wrong side of the city, and we're locking our doors every time we pass strangers. we are lost in this mass hysteria of what people call "life". 

ink. lead. blood. stars.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

alzheimer's squared & the nature of friendship

-
the voice after the tone sounds as if it hasn't spoken words it understands in a very long time. "h-hello? hello. i - gosh, nancy? is this you? i hope you've kept the same number, but it sure has been awhile. this is mark.. maria's husband. i was just.. well. i'm calling because.. i mean, of all people, you should know. it's.. she.. AHEM. maria has passed away. it was alzheimer's disease. dementia. i'm sorry. i hope this finds you well. i'm sorry." *click* apparently mark was never particularly good with words. not a thing like maria, who taught my grandmother how to fold and starch clothes in the basement of woolworth's department store. nanny's first week as a working woman was saved by her new friend's endless advice, her easy laughter, and her affinity for american hamburgers; a delicacy she had never seen in puerto rico. nanny found this endlessly amusing, mostly because she couldn't imagine having the money to orde
Read more

beautiful, exotic

-
when i was nine years old, a boy at school pointed at my mustache and laughed. he followed me around the playground asking if my "real" parents got rid of me because they're actually monkeys. i went home with his laughter ringing in my ears, begging my mom to help me.  she said that if it would make me feel better, we could try to shave my face.  as my mother ran a razor over the tender shadows, she began the complicated process of molding the cruelty of others into some kind of teachable moment. it was a conversation that her research on adoption probably hadn't prepared her for. the unwritten chapter: what to do when your mixed race child becomes aware of their own ethnicity. "when a girl is white, it makes the hair on her lip almost invisible if it’s blond. see? it’s just.. different for you.” she points to her own pale face. i nod as she swipes a finger full of vaseline across my mouth. different, with hair just a little too dark for a mostl
Read more

from the archives: may 3rd, 2019

-
a year in review from the journal archives: — “when you were in pre-k, nanny sent you off to school with brand new, bright pink boots and instructions to ‘kick that little shit, conrad, right in the shin’ with them if he were ever so bold as to bully me again.  from you, i learned to be the fire instead of just starting one.”
Read more