- complications from the surgery
backseat dancing with kevin, belting tom petty’s “won’t back down” until the driver yanks out the key. we step from the car to the dirt, he looks around and asks, “was I the only one singing?”
in the hospital and your mom is telling us stories from her first few weeks as a nurse. she talks about washing art the cart, a cursing, spitting, homeless war vet in a huge basin set in the middle of a hospital corridor. when she took off his shirt she found a woman’s vagina tattoed on his back, gaping from shoulder to shoulder.
we sit in the garden and you are glowing, if an angel tumbled down you would be it. you are telling me how your therapist told you to stand in front of the mirror and recite “i don’t fit in” until you laugh.
two boys texting me about the same things in different ways.
i don’t fit i don’t fit i don’t fit i don’t fit ——> made it to here then started to laugh.
- meeting beau, our saturday of adventures
two southerners lament lightning bugs struck silent at the bottom of mason jars. moon shine shamelessly spilling across velvet marsh. cricket symphonies, sweet tea, bread crumbs punctuating corners of grins. two clouds bumper cars and a bubble floats by -
look into your liquid eyes and I will this serving of myself to be enough. never have I sat so close to you. gentle easing. north star. you.
let's hope we both stay put long enough to get it right -
--- fourth of july, rooftop party in portrero
lisa and i move our mats together during our morning yoga class. our instructor calls the forms our bodies takes “shapes.” cat steven’s free to be you and me begins our sequence of shifting.
i pick up Amy and we head to the beach for a muni amphitheater beach walk. too windy, sand sandwhich for lunch, no thanks. instead we sit in a mini park someone made of a median cleaving two highways. we eat our quinoa, lentils and sip perrier next to a group men smoking from greasy pipes. when we walk back to the car two boys ask, can we get a ride up the street? yes, I say.
both boys from scranton, pennsylvania. one of them works at a toliet paper factory, and he describes the paper roller he manages to tame. size of a city block! he says proudly, needs fourteen other guys to get it going! in my rearview mirror I watch him put his hand to his forehead and say, but i don’t really like my job.
at night i pick up what I think is a watermelon and head to a rooftop party in portrero. a girl with shimmery hair helps me open the fruit and we discover it’s a honeydew. we burst out laughing, our friendship cemented. upstairs I hold a hot dog between my thumb and my finger and sway to bruce springsteen.
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