the port, black and shimmering
what’s the difference between a pier and a dock?
something about our faces, familar
something about dimples
bikes, birds and blue ribbons
all that stuff we hate to love
IPAs half empty or half full
you made me forget how to dance
and tattoos
bodies as temples
a new tongue
and hands
marvin,
thank you for the memory
love, gardens
I am a fantastic piece of shit
about to hurl myself 2,500 miles
down a snowy road
accompanied only by
one engine
and one heartbeat, dog
this morning was a morning
just like any other before it
except
this was the particular morning
you finally pissed me off
fuck it
now you can have the
fire-breathing witch bitch
I’ve always known
was in there
I’m finally used to
that hot feeling in my chest
so I’m going to do what I want
and you
are rolling
like water
off my back
1. cry
2. cry
3. get drunk
4. wallow
5. break my key off in the door
6. fall over in front of the cemetery
7. cry next to the cemetery
8. throw my phone in the ocean
9. sleep
10. walk the dog
11. drive to the valley
12. look for eagle feathers
13. play the piano
14. write letters to friends
15. go to therapy
16. vent
17. try to jerk off but cry instead
18. nap
19. make coffee
20. practice tarot
21. sew
22. make a stencil
23. read a book
24. wheatpaste
25. write a song
26. eat salmon
27. do a reading at YAAC
28. be proud of myself
I am moving to a warmer middle of nowhere. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the goal.
It’s getting Cold. Cold is not a memory, it’s a fact. And I forget every year. I remember rage, shaking hands, damning the sky and needing dry pavement like air. But I don’t ever really remember the feeling of Cold.
This year, just as all before, autumn is a gift and my heart leaps at the thought of stretching it down the Alcan. Fall is a season everywhere else but here. Here it’s a bitter tease, a jest.
Every year I don’t have enough sweaters. Where do they go? I’ve never had a coat that seemed warm enough. I need a coat.
My dog needs a coat. She’s loosing all of her hair. One of three things is wrong with my dog:
1. Nothing
2. Auto-Immune Disease that costs $20 a month to treat
3. Auto-Immune Disease that costs four hundred dollars a month for the rest of her life to treat
But, oh yeah.. Cold.
Lastnight was Cold. I cried in the parking lot of Wal-mart because I had a really bad headache and a stuffy nose and I’m working too much and my back hurts and my neck hurts worse and my pain medication doesn’t really work anymore and they won’t give me anything stronger, not that I really want to be taking medication anyway and I know there’s a couple beers somewhere in the van underneath all the clutter, that will at least help me sleep, but I already took the pain pills that don’t work and I smell and I need a shower and laundry and my parents are out of town and I wish I could go to their house and eat and watch tv and cry in the shower but our relationship is all weird and they won’t let me have a key and whatever ’cause some people don’t have parents so fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll just go to bed and if I masturbate I’ll fall asleep faster, but I can’t even jerk off because nothing is sexy to me and I’m too cold and thank god I borrowed that sleeping bag from Aren when I did or I would be dead and I need to give that back, so I need to get some wool blankets but Wal-mart didn’t have any wool blankets but why would they and I hate Wal-mart anyway but everything else was closed by the time I got off work and I could go sit at Barnes and Noble but I don’t think I can sit up because I feel sick and I just want to lie down somewhere warm but everyone is gone or busy and nobody cares that I’m too cold and I’ve been fucking up all my relationships because I’m tired and cranky and selfish all the time lately and it’s my fault I’m homeless and cold.
So then I’m like: ok, yes, you made this decision. There’s a point to all of this and you are working toward a goal. You will get there, and it’s not that bad. Many before you have dealt with so many more obstacles. Obstacles, you are strong, you are a lion. You are a momma cat, but you are also a bird. You are smart and strong. You are resourceful. You have been through so much worse than this. Fuck everything in your way. You can do this. I can do this.
And then I just went to bed. And this morning I awoke. Still alive.
I’m going to live with my father. In November. I’m going to nanny my new baby sister, Cedar, born in July. They live in a town sixty miles from anywhere on the Olympic Peninsula. I’ll have my cats back, get a side job, walk Kote through the snowy forest, get to know my dad and have lots and lots of time to make music and art. I’ll stay as long as I want. and when I’m ready I’ll go somewhere warmer still, hot even. I’ll go to where the queers are. And I will collapse, relieved, revived, in the arms of my chosen family.
the texture of a dirt-smeared gauzy skirt
and wind
wind blowing Juliette’s static hair
and bumps on my skin
sitting shoulder to shoulder with Mitch
on the dog bed eating his late dinner
lets walk down to the beach
I’m so high on life
this is amazing
the environment or the calculator watch?
tandum mountain bike
purple stripes on the brown ducks
kittens crying
lovers whispering on the balcony
laundry flapping
joking about thongs
old man peeing off the deck
Maria’s husband bathing in the wooden barrel
Eve is 8 and married to a woman
but she has a boyfriend
and two ex husbands
the hugging/touching/cuddling
father rolling on the ground kissing his sleepy son
the young women perked in a half moon
around the tall boy from michigan
Bernardo in from berlin
is saying something about the beautiful blonde boy
it’s ok to curse in front of the children
we don’t segregate by age
learn at your own pace
the children are so well-spoken
the hedgehog is a big hit
everyone has jars of tea
blue corn is chewy, satisfying
I want to marry Mitch and raise children together
I want to hold his hand while we walk through the woods to the garden
but don’t
wash the turnips in the grass to leave the b12
rich two year human waste compost
bouncing on the trampoline
feeling like a kid
letting go
how rare it is to let go
smiling the whole day
rolling through the mountains
they refused to smile on camera
Mitch unbottoned his shirt to twirl like a ballerina
Matthew did flips for my camera
Noisy Pig on the commune
the tipis are awesome
but what about bears
the children gave us after dinner names
Diamond, Robin Hood, Lupin, Shorty, Julia, Mickey, DJ, The Dude
Diamond doesn’t want her picture taken
I won’t be able to write about this
I don’t know why it took us eight years
to attract each other
I don’t know why you say you’ll call
and don’t
I don’t know what you’re so goddamn afraid of
or
why we even started this?
I don’t know why I feel safe in your arms
and think about you all the time
I don’t know why I’ve been so
accomodating
gentle
pleasing
nice
understanding
sweet
caring
agreeable
when you
cancel
flake
and forget me
when I mean to say
fuck you
yeah, sorry, what I meant to say was
fuck you.
I liked the way your slim hips swayed
back and forth with mine
I was careful not to say anything like “slim hips”
I played the shy girl
and it paid off
here, it’s become strange to kiss strangers
but tonight I got my flirt back
haulin’ out the rusty old smile
but it’s easy when you feel it
smiles are easy
when you’re singing in my ear
holding my hand
pushing me up against the car
brushing your moustache against mine
you tell me that you’re trouble,
like I don’t know touble
I’m more trouble than you could ever be
I say
’cause I know that you don’t even know the half of it
I think:
finally
someone that can step to this
see, the thing is
the last time I saw you
you were fanning stars from your eyes
and I knew it was my fault
I remember the first time I asked to kiss you
summer on the porch
and when granpa died
and I crawled into bed and you held me
I remember asking to call you my girlfriend
wrapped around each other on the little acorns
I remember how you would taste
kissing hello after biking
reading your homework to you
avoiding mine
doing laundry together
holding hands on the bus
morning rituals of kissing you awake
and coffee
your patience
and forgiveness
and when we cried goodbye
in the shower
see, the problem is
I’m grieving all over again
because I’m remembering
all of you that I want
and cannot have.
mirco mini for the Anchorage Press fiction contest: 25 words or under.
———————————-
During the interview the groomer yanked on my facial hair. “I thought it was dog fur!” she gasped. So no, I didn’t get the job.
I guess we’re going for it
you told me you didn’t realize
I was a serious and well-read person
I told you that I liked you
but that I should draw clearer boundaries
I don’t know if you have experience with this
but I do
it’s amazing how easily I can slide
back into this role
Sean said it was like riding a bike
you talked about the wonders that tunnels are
blasted through mountains
and the disppointment of coming out on the other side
I thought about how society tells you
that your words are worth more than mine
I brush your silver hair out of your eyes
and wonder why you’re in my bed
I hate the way you kiss
but the desire to kiss you is overwhelming
later after you’re gone
I think, shit, I guess I’m going to need some condoms
I am submitting “$20″ as a short story to a local writing contest and have made some new edits. Here is the latest, more polished version.
——————–
It’s a little awkward trying to come up with a fake name to protect his identity because I don’t remember his actual name.
I was standing alone on the patio of the gay bar that stays open long after all of the others close. The fags I came with had pumped me full of whiskey and compliments all night, but now were nowhere to be found. I was feeling dejected in Anchorage, recently back from college and missing the kind of queers you find in big cities. I had just ripped off an itchy $9 witch wig and washed an eyeliner moustache off in the bathroom mirror. Maybe that’s why I looked acceptable to him. Let’s call him Henry.
I had made eye contact with Henry between making conversation with the gorgeous old fag from Chile and sipping random drinks I found unattended on the wooden picnic tables. He was pretty unremarkable. Tall, average white dude, crew cut, black hoodie, five o’clock shadow. But I kept catching him looking at me and was curious why. I’m femme enough to give off the straight vibe, sure, but I haven’t been approached by a man in years. So I found myself leaning up against the wall next to him. We talked for a while and he asked me if I wanted to “hang out”. I knew I was too drunk and bored to pass up this potential adventure for going back to the cold van I was living in at the time.
Henry is in the Air Force and very proud of his Irish heritage (maybe I should have named him Liam). He tells me such things while we walk to the gas station so he can buy cigarettes. I grab a bottled water and a gingersnap cookie and he buys. As we walk back towards downtown he says, “You have the most clear green eyes. Make my eyes clear like that. Tell me how to make my eyes clear like yours.” I can’t tell if we’re having a special moment, or if he’s just drunk or high. He says he has a lot of money and would rather get a hotel room than take me to his downtown home. When I question the idea he tells me it’s because he has a pit-bull. I try to explain to him that I work with dogs, a pit-bull isn’t an issue for me (is it for other women???) But he insists, so we ride around and around in a cab looking for a vacancy on a Friday night, and finally end up at a run down motel with holes punched in the head boards.
Henry turned on the cable and I shouted from the bathroom for him to find some porn. There was a jacuzzi tub that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ten years. Despite that, I craved a hot bath so I started the water, got naked and came out of the bathroom proclaiming that we would have a hot tub together. Henry did not argue. He did whine that the water was too hot though and I told him to “man up, soldier.” We eased into the steaming water, the only light coming from the street through the bars on the windows. I hadn’t told Henry that I was gay yet, so when we were soaking in the tub he put his hand on my knee. I decided I was ok with it. We talked about his wife. Apparently, this was the “pit-bull” he spoke of. He said they hated each other but the Air Force gave them some kind of benefits if they stayed married. I told him he should get a divorce. He put his head back and sighed, agreeing. Henry got too hot and left the tub. I relaxed in it a little longer and when I got out I found him sprawled on the bed. I laid down and closed my eyes, heavy from the heat.
We talked a little more, or I should say he talked more. “You’re really cool,” he said, “you’re so…. chill.” I laughed at him. My eyes were still closed and suddenly I felt him leaning over me. He rested his hand on my stomach and started sucking on my nipples out of nowhere in the middle of our conversation. I don’t know why, but somehow I was ok with this too. I figured if I just kept my eyes closed I could enjoy a little nipple sucking, why not?! I laughed and told him he wasn’t doing it hard enough. He got all timid and I remembered why I don’t like having sex with dudes. But, he was so nervous and kinda dorky that it was almost cute. He grabbed his dick and I decided to start masturbating in front of him. He was mesmerized. I actually got a little turned on by the thought of him watching me and told him he could fuck me, with his hand only. He didn’t get it at first, but with a little direction it turned out ok. “You taste really good,” he said at one point, pulling his fingers from his mouth. It was then I remembered I was still kinda on my period. He tried to fuck me with his dick a few times and I had to push him away and tell him no, like he was a dog or something. At one point, I had a little reality check in which I realized this burly bro could rape me if he wanted to and I was a little nervous for a second. I ended up coming three times and he was in awe watching me ejaculate. “I’ve never seen that in real life,” he said. I made him masturbate to orgasm and he was amazed that two people could have sex without penile penetration. Like it was some new secret trick. Afterward, I watched his face relax and then slowly turn into a grimace as he surely thought about his wife. “It’s alright,” I said touching his shoulder, “you’re human. It’s not the end of the world. Nothing is forever.” He nodded. Where were all these sagely words coming from?
Before we had arrived at the motel he had been saying “I’ll never lie to you, I’m a very honest person.” I didn’t think he was a bad guy and I decided I wanted to be honest with him now that we had been physical. “I should probably tell you that, uh… I’m a lesbian.” I blurted out. He looked confused and I braced myself. “Whoa, you’re like the coolest lesbian I’ve ever met…” He tried to kiss me and awkwardly missed. “You look kinda like Henry Rollins” I said as he pulled away. He didn’t know who that was.
I was starting to sober up and decided that if I was going to have some identity crisis because I just let a dude bro put his hand inside me that I should do it in the safety of my own van. He told me that he should go home, but that I could stay if I promised not to break anything. I told him I would rather just walk back to my van. I think he felt embarrassed to check out only a few hours after he had checked in. We gathered our belongings and I started toward the door. “Wait,” he said. I turned around and saw him shuffling through his wallet. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Take this,” he said. WTF? I told him “no”. He insisted. “Do you realize what you’re implying?” I asked. He told me it wasn’t like that, he just wanted to make sure I got home safe (even though my van was two blocks away). I wasn’t going to turn down cash. Henry walked me to my van. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” he said and smiled. “Yeah.” I lied. “Are you sure you’ll be alright out here?” he said as he watched someone shuffling around behind a dumpster. “I’ll be fine.” I nodded. As he walked away he turned over his shoulder and said, “Well, if anything happens just scream and I’ll come back.”
Little ice-melt pebbles crunch under our boots as we trace her daily path through the hospital doors. There’s a little “cover your cough” stand with sanitizer and paper masks. She takes a mask and stretches it over her head, two boney manicured hands, ring finger diamonds sparkling. The taunt white elastic band presses onto the delicate skin of the scar on her neck. We pass a gorgeous photograph of a bear cub playing with a moose antler on a river bank, a white porcelain Mary, and a chapel. The chapel intrigues me. The chapel bothers me, as if to say, you’re going to need to start praying.
We sit down with the naturopath in his office. He is a handsome Jewish man who looks you directly in the eyes when he speaks. My first impression was that he was too hurried. She mentions a GI tube consult she’s going to later. He explains the ridges of the GI system, what chemo/radiation can do to it, and why it’s better to eat orally rather than through a feeding tube. Use it or loose it. Out the huge windows of his office is a wide view of scratchy black trees clinging to the white sky and fogged mountains. I wonder what makes things grow upward, what the trees reach for, what is beyond. It’s a good distraction from listening to my mother talk about loosing her sense of taste, hair and will to eat. He tells me to feed her lots of Indian food, tumeric. He turns to her, “Do you like the taste of ginger?” He asks her about her skin, explains melatonin with drawings on scrap paper. She shows him all of the new freckles showing up on her neck and face. I think it’s the cutest fucking thing ever and it makes me want to jump out of my seat and hug her. I think about tattooing them on me. I think about the matching freckle we’ve always had on our left hands just below the thumb.
As the naturopath wraps up the appointment he tells me to start stealing Queezy Pops for her from the radiation desk. I decide I like him.
give me one of your freckles
we’ll trade a tiny part of ourselves
I’ll do you and you do me
constellations of love over our bodies
Honey Bucket’s hands move just like Elena’s
and I remember warm nights
sleeping exausted
from talking and dancing and kissing
I’m pretty sure the girl at the counter at Middle Way
is something like eighteen years old
but she has a septum piercing, moustache and this demure style about her
all of which turns me into a fumbling dork when I order from her
especially today when she complimented my glasses
I told Meg I wasn’t fit to carry an anchor on my finger
but that’s not entirely true
I was born in a fishingtown
I know the quiet rocking of boats
and otters in the harbor
I know slippery seaweed dried on rocks
and red and purple starfish
if we are different people with each lover
if they each bring out varied qualities in us
and we relate to them in diverse ways
if in every relationship we are able to express unique parts of ourselves
and learn varying lessons each time we connect
then how on Earth does one go about considering
committing to a monogamous romantic relationship for the rest of their lives?
I can’t stand the way you chew your food
but I liked watching your fingers
wrapping thread around the needles
your teeth helping you hands make the knots
and the blunt side of the needle gently parting your moustache
the reason I call myself a queer dyke
has nothing to do with physical attraction
and everything to do with socialization and social construction
so stop fucking calling me a lesbian
and fuck me
I write in a red chair
under a brown paper penciled chart of the 2009 lunar phases, a love letter
next to two years of charted menstration, red dots on 2008 and 2009 lunar phases, printed by Snake and Snake
beside a polaroid of three naked apple trees in Portland, their fruit on the ground
under a window looking out on cold tree skeletons
on top of blonde wood floors
dog is on the bed a wild mess of fluff sighing and sneezing and dream twitching paws
two cats sleeping in two moons, nose to tail, black and white piano keys and desert streches
on white flannel sheets with acorns and a brown quilt my stepfather made
I write on yellow tablets at work
shoving them into random drawers when the boss comes around
terrified I will forget them there at the end of the day
I write at red lights
scratching so frantically I can barely read it later
into a red moleskine
almost always forgetting the feeling and flow of the original moment
taking the wide curves in the dark
sliding around and through
the gorgeous monochromes of winter
and text and texture
I think
it’s the space between the notes
that music happens
when my housemates are out
that’s when I can feel
everything between my fingers
that’s when I can play it out slow
over and over and over again
that’s when I find myself
it’s the space between the notes
where the sex is
I told Emily that
when I came lastnight
it was so good
that I thought I started my period
Survived a turbulent (productive) therapy session.
Appreciated the hella fat glowing moon.
Met four gorgeous and amazing queer women on the dance floor.
Did not drink.
Wore really gaudy earrings. And crimped hair.
Laughed so hard I cried.
Gained a new sense of hope.
Fell asleep while masturbating, laughing exausted, exclaiming:
I found the dykes!
I went to a birthday party today over brunch. A vegan and gluten-free feast. Some of the people I knew, and some of them not. I was anxious because I hate small talk, it makes me so uncomfortable. I feel like strangers ask me questions just to hear themselves talk. I feel boring when I tell people what I do and I feel stupid when I tell them that I’m not in school because I can’t afford it right now. I glued myself to Kevin and Honey Bucket until they had to leave and I mostly had to fend for myself. I was anxious because the house was very fancy. Lots of art and rugs. Alaskana.
I went to the sitting room to put my card with the others and caught sight of the view out of the large windows. I pressed my forhead against the glass. The freezing Kenai Peninsula. It resembled the bluffs in Portland in some strange way. The window fogged with my breath. I thought of my mother. I remembered I was not in a place where it was appropriate to cry. I wondered if the tree I was looking at was a black spruce. I wondered about the foot prints in the snow. I tried to picture where I was oriented on a map. I drew a heart in the condensation and then wondered if I shouldn’t have.
Back in the kitchen and breakfast nook I submitted to the dreaded small talk and it wasn’t that bad. Emiline showed up, my savior. We sunk into a big love seat and talked about teeth and jokes past lovers made at the expense of our sensitivities. We talked about Boycations and Man Rambles and male nudity in film. We talked about our health and highschool and the journeys we made in college, physically and emotionally.
Matthew and Sarah played the banjo and accordian on the fireplace. Sarah looks like Portland, I thought. Thin flannel, thick rimmed glasses, greasy boyish haircut. She may be the only one in all of Anchorage. It occurred to me that this brunch, this vegan brunch with young people playing covers of Hurray for the Riff Raff, the beards, the flannel, the fact that almost half of the people there were queer, this might be the best of what is here. If this is all there is, I thought, at least I have found it.
Later some of the guests left, some helped clean up. I watched the lady of the house scrape a bowl full of left over cream cheese and a whole stick of left over butter into the garbage disposal. I talked to one of the lingering guests about whether or not God has lips, or any erogenous zones for that matter. We talked about wanting to visit villages but not wanting to live there. I showed him my leg tattoos. I told him about my grandfather’s memorial and it seemed like maybe his eyes got wet for some secret reason. I felt attracted to him. I made up a rule that it was ok to get a crush on someone who was a gender different from ones you normally go for if it was over the holidays.
The birthday girl opened her gifts and cards. I gave her a patch with a bike on it, a tube of glitter glue and a pin that says “I <3 female orgasm”. Her parents gave her remote start for her car and $1000. I started to realize this friend of mine came from a class background much different than mine. I hadn’t thought much about her background before. I thought about what I could do with $1000.
My tires spun in the deep snow as I maneuvered out of the suburban winter hideaway. I passed my old elementary school. Everything looked so different. All the trees cut and a shopping center I didn’t even know existed. I put on that Des Ark CD I’ve been trying to take a break from so I won’t stop liking it from listening too much. I sang along and my voice sounded raspy and I liked it. I thought about my Holiday Crush. I thought about hating feeling stuck up here. I started to get anxious about What I’m Doing With My Life and The Next Step. But then I thought about my mom, and felt an unfamiliar a sense of calm. I realized that right now I’m exactly where I need to be.
We were all there on the boat in July. In the waters of Silver Bay. It had been years since I had set foot on a boat. Grandpa and my dad used to take me halibut fishing out in that bay.
I was afraid to be sea-sick. Grandma’s eyes were wet and everyone talked quiet and respectful. I held her arm in mine as we bounced and swayed out of the harbor. The breeze was warm inside, and out on the deck the air was clear. As we sped over the waves my stomach flopped and I only panicked for a moment. The captain pointed to the whale spouts and the kids and I all asked to follow it.
Out on the deck the wind blew my little flower printed dress wildly. I forgot to be scared of the water and closed my eyes holding the railing. I could feel the whole world melting around me. There was only this moment. Only the whales and the otters and the seals and Grandma and Grandpa in his tin. Only the wide sky and only the islands and sea birds and glitter on the waves. Being on the water was amazing and I didn’t cry, I laughed and laughed and something unlocked in my heart. Something weary and heavy lifted into the sky.
The captain steered us into Grandpa’s favorite fishing cove far far from the harbor. The engine cut and we floated, silent except for the wet waves lapping. The water was so dark and the cedars on the shores and cliffs were so dark and lush and green. Grandma said a prayer. Each of the three children scooped a little of Grandpa from the tin and let it into the ocean. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. They saved a little of Grandpa in an altoid tin for me to put into a locket. Grandma sniffled and mom ‘s eyes were red. My hot tears were overwhelming, but it was because it was so beautiful.
When we had soaked up enough of the moment the captain started the engine. He slowly turned the boat back towards Sitka. Suddenly I remembered Grandpa’s laugh. In my heart I could hear him just laughing and laughing. He was so happy we put him in the sea.
Snow is clear. But on days like this it washes out everything beyond the block you’re on and I am suddenly content that there is nothing more than this.
I like it when I go to the yarn store and the yarn ladies follow me around asking if they can help me every five minutes like I am going to run out with arm loads of wool blends under my jacket.
I like that my boss is out of town for the next few weeks and I can knit all day at work without fear of being caught.
I like it when my friend George’s accent changes depending on if he’s out with friends or working at his father’s taco cart.
I like my secret plan to steal his girlfriend and make her gay even though it’s not very nice of me.
I like my dog’s bored sighs that fog the window she gazes out of when we run errands.
I like that I am plagued by this wild inspiration that only seems to rush around inside of me while I’m driving so I have to scratch frantic notes or I’ll forget it all. And why is it that my memory lets certain things slip but others I remember so vividly? Like that time I was fucking Little Bird and a cut was stinging on my hand or Friend’s mouth on my palm.
I liked discovering the Womyn’s Dance downtown. I remember thinking that I should go every month and then hearing that the next one wasn’t until April of next year.
I like it when my therapist asks me why I have to go all the way to Fairbanks in order to teach myself to play music and I have to sheepishly admit that maybe it has something to do with my crush on Friend.
I like that I frantically tried to write really intense poems about my abusive ex trying to publicly embarrass me last weekend. But now I am content with these few lines here.
I like this tiny handmade book that Kevin found on the ground that goes like this:
5. Bat’s are more interesting than spiders.
9. Bats are the most useful to farmers.
1. Seeing a bat is a lucky sign.
13. Bats look funny hanging upside down.
7. A bat would make a fun pet.
17. Bat caves are spooky.
16. Bats should live far away from people.
8. Bats are ugly.
The snow flurries on the road make me feel like I am home. The wind pushes at the car and the lanes have disappeared but I am calm and handle the road like no time has passed at all.
Sometimes my heart aches. On the highway facing the Chugachs, headed to my mother’s house. I know that just beyond that range is the road that leads South; I could keep driving. Pass the last exit at the edge of town, and when the car dies along the way I will take what I can carry. Wrap myself up, leash the dog. We’ll stow away in anything mobile and race Winter down the Alcan, all the way to Oregon. But I sit, stay. Because I know that somewhere in cyberspace there’s a ticket with my name on it. A vacation, a christmas gift to myself, to get me through ’til Spring. I know I’ll make it back there permanent some other day.
My little brother and I only see each other in passing, crossing paths doing laundry at our mother’s house. I wish we were closer. He thinks I’m a man-hater and an alcoholic. And I get it. He’s thinking of seventeen year old me: self-destructive, never home, perpetually drunk, moving out at sixteen. He felt abandoned -like he felt when our parents split up. I hate that I made him feel that way. I hope someday we can mend those lines of communication and he can forgive me for being a bad older sister and I can forgive him for writing me off.
Lastnight I was climbing the stairs of my long driveway in the dark. I heard a high-pitched squeaking from above. Looked up to see a nest in the twisted naked branches. Baby birds? My roommate says it’s impossible this time of year and told me to get a flashlight and a ladder. But I didn’t want the answer.
Today, clapping my boots on the way to the van, I spilled my coffee. Ravens were dancing on the tops of other cars, playing and laughing with their rolling, throaty calls. Those birds are so fucking big up close! I know it’s tired for girls to speak about the beauty and mysticality of birds. But I swear ravens are my spirit animal. Picking through the trash and joking and playing all day long, loud and dressed in black.
I’m just here. I’m just up here simple, boring and daydreaming all the time. And there’s nothing else to do, because we have to believe in something.
I go to where the ocean meets the mud and sand
this is me I think
I am like the water lapping up against Anchorage
but the tide doesn’t assign value to how far and onto which shore it breaks
it just flows and I want to be content to be pulled by the moon
west, the Alaska range glowed brilliantly across the water
more clear than I have ever seen it before
Sleeping Lady, dusty shoulders deep in shadow
east, the Chugachs were skirted with low snow clouds
approaching that range, watching it rise up before you
I swear, it’s like praying
today the earth is showing me something like god
everything beautiful in the world is survival
the lion’s mane is there only to protect her neck
we must build whole entire lives on the bare threads of the past
melt down all that fucked up shit and turn it into infinite love
next weekend my ex-boyfriend is coming to town
and he has agreed to help me pick out a knife
the tide does not assign value to the shore on which it breaks
and I know that the most radical thing I can do is love myself
even in the face of all these undesirable experiences from my past
It’s awkward trying to come up with a fake name to protect his identity because I don’t remember his actual name.
I was standing on the patio of the gay bar that stays open long after the others close. The fags I came with had pumped me full of whiskey and compliments all night, but now they were nowhere to be found. I had just ripped off my itchy $9 witch wig and washed an eyeliner moustache off in the bathroom mirror. Maybe that’s why I looked acceptable to him. Let’s call him Henry.
I had made eye contact with Henry between making conversation with the gorgeous old fag from Chile and sipping off of random drinks I found unattended on the wooden picnic tables. He was pretty unremarkable. Tall, average white dude, crew cut, black hoodie, five o’clock shadow. But I kept noticing him looking at me and was curious why. So I found myself leaning up against the table he was at asking him what was up. We talked for a while and when he asked me if I wanted to “hang out” I knew I was too drunk and bored to pass up a potential adventure for sleeping in my cold van.
Henry is in the Air Force and very proud of his Irish heritage (maybe I should have named him Liam). He tells me such things while we walk to the gas station. I laugh at him when he buys me bottled water and a gingersnap cookie. As we walk he says “You have the most clear green eyes. Make my eyes clear like that. Tell me how to make my eyes clear like yours.” I can’t tell if this is some special moment, or if he’s just drunk or high. He says he has a lot of money and would rather get a room for us to hang out in than take me to his downtown home because he has a pitbull. I try to explain to him that I work with dogs, a pitbull is not an issue for me (is it with other girls???) He insists, so we ride around and around in a cab and finally end up at a really rundown motel with holes punched in the head boards.
He turns on the cable and I shout from the bathroom for him to find some porn. There was a jacuzzi tub that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ten years. I suddenly craved a hot bath so I started the water, got naked and came out of the bathroom proclaiming that we would have a hot tub together. Henry did not argue. He did whine that the water was too hot though and I told him to “man up, soldier”. You might be wondering why/how I got myself into this situation, I wondered that too. I hadn’t told Henry that I was gay yet, so when we were soaking in the tub he put his hand on my knee. I decided I was ok with that. We talked about his wife. Apparently this was the “pitbull” he spoke of. They hated each other but they got some kind of Air Force benefits if they stayed married. I told him he should get a divorce. He sighed in agreement. Henry got too hot and left the tub. I relaxed in it a little longer and when I got out I found him sprawled on the bed. I laid down and closed my eyes, heavy from the heat.
We talked a little more, or I should say he talked more. “You’re really cool.” he said. “You’re so…. chill.” I laughed at him. My eyes were still closed and suddenly he started sucking on my nipples out of nowhere in the middle of our small talk. I don’t know why but somehow I was ok with this too. I laughed and told him he wasn’t doing it hard enough. He got all timid and I remembered why I don’t like having sex with dudes. I figured if I just closed my eyes I could enjoy a little nipple sucking, why not?! He was so nervous and kinda dorky that it was almost cute. He grabbed his dick and I decided to start masturbating in front of him. He was mesmerized. I actually got a little turned on by the thought of him watching me and told him he could fuck me, with his hand only. He didn’t get it at first, but with a little direction it turned out ok. “You taste really good.” He said at one point, pulling his fingers from his mouth. It was then I remembered I was still kinda on my period. He tried to fuck me with his dick a few times and I had to push him away and tell him no, like he was a dog or something. I had a little moment of clarity in which I realized this burly bro could rape me if he wanted to and I was a little nervous for a second. I ended up coming three times and he was in awe watching me ejaculate, “I’ve never seen that in real life…” he said. I made him masturbate to orgasm and he was amazed that we had just had sex without penile penetration. Like it was some new secret trick. Afterward, I watched his face relax and then slowly turn into a grimace as he surely thought about his wife. “It’s alright,” I said, “you’re human. It’s not the end of the world. You can always make new choices. Nothing is forever. Everything will work out.” He nodded. Where were all these sagely words coming from?
Before we had arrived at the motel he had been saying “I’ll never lie to you, I’m a very honest person.” I didn’t think he was a bad guy and I decided I wanted to be honest with him now that we had been physical. “I should probably tell you that, uh… I’m a lesbian.” I blurted out. He looked confused. “Whoa, you’re like the coolest lesbian I’ve ever met…” He tried to kiss me and awkwardly missed. “You look kinda like Henry Rollins” I said. He didn’t know who that was.
I started to sober up and decided that if I was going to have some identity crisis because I just let a dude bro put his hand inside me that I should do it in the safety of my own van. He told me he should go home, but that I could stay if I promised not the break anything. I told him I would rather walk back to my van. I think he felt embarrassed to check out a few hours after he had checked in. We gathered our belongings and I started toward the door. “Wait.” he said. I turned around and saw him shuffling through his wallet. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Take this.” he said. WTF? I told him no. He insisted. “Do you realize what that means?” I asked. He told me it wasn’t like that, he just wanted to make sure I got home safe (even though my van was two blocks away). I wasn’t going to turn down cash. He walked me to my van and as we parted he turned and said, “If anything happens just scream and I’ll come back.”
Henry, my boyfriend, my sugar daddy, my john (???).
Oh boy. Oh man. Oh Henry.
the mountains now only dusted with snow
trees wave hello/goodbye in the warm breeze
sun brakes golden and hazily through them
thousands of skinny leafless birches
hold a stick to them, play their dusty bones
tones will reverberate, a great harpsichord zing
a screen door bangs startling open and shut
dogs are all howl and whine
and the cat flashes her speckled coat more orange than usual
I cried about you
all the way to sleep,
little bird
your familiar toothy grin
I remembered for a moment how propelled I am by love
and how sweetly you did and do
and are
how sweet you truly are
oh little bird,
I cry even now
I never wrote you a single word
and I don’t know how to begin
or end
when I was in high school my Astronomy teacher dated my mom
he also shot and killed himself a quarter-mile from our home
he left a message on her work voicemail so that she wouldn’t recieve it ’til Monday
he blamed her
I heard the news, in first period: math
I was the one to tell my mom
crying into my cell phone on the floor in the corner of a bathroom stall
she came to the school and we cried together in the principal’s office
where there was a rubber chicken hanging in a noose above our heads
someone removed it promptly
my best friend was called out of class on the intercom
the three of us went to my house and watched movies for the rest of the day
none of the students liked him
they made fun of me when him and my mom were seeing eachother
they made fun of him shooting himself
he was pretty nice to me
the school had me meet with a counselor
and I was allowed to skip Astronomy from then on
which I did, even though I had liked it
I was assured I would recieve a passing grade in all of my classes no matter what
so I slacked more than usual
but it didn’t matter because eventually I dropped out
I frequently think I see him around town
but of course, upon second glance it’s not him
I don’t know why I wanted to write about this.
even though in the city
I live at the summit of a small mountain
great lanky beasts pass my morning window
that is lined with tokens, a seed, a shell, a rail road spike
I catch myself in the mirror
so grounded, so in love with myself
so proud to have lifted this body
carried it out of places so far behind me
oh my friends, I carry you slung to my hips
when I dance you are there with me
when I move swiftly through the day’s chores
when I cook, dog at my feet catching the stray bits
everything I touch these days is old and new at once
even though in the city
I live at the summit of a glorious mountain
all day I’d been feeling so tender for every past love
drunken, daydreaming, distracted
I was carefully pulling paper from the birches
all the leaves floating in the air
golden wet confetti sticking to my boots
you asked me if I had been in love with her
I said I didn’t know
I said that I had always felt it in the moment,
but when it was gone I questioned if it ever existed
we clutched our damp forest souvenirs
as we walked the dogs circled around us
tangling and untangling their leashes
and I guess that’s what our hearts do
just tangle and untangle.
