I’ll still be using this blog to post my writing. But see what I’m up to here:
http://blackbirdisablackbird.tumblr.com/
love
evergreen
this is exactly what I love:
early mist, morning in the woods
nothing in particular to do but float in solitude,
thinking fondly of loved ones
and the sacred distance from and between them.
Kote chewing tall grass
curious peacocks and one-footed hens
startled doves, and no feathers on the ground
tiny pink and white spring petals where I expected them
mosses and lichens, green on the side of everything
collecting lilac and cedar bows,
a care-filled gesture
bundled and wrapped tight and loosely
in cottons, wools, and silk
hole in the boot as usual
and carrying Sofia’s scent of some fire
her smell of knowledge
tinctures and drinking and dancing
she knows all the plants of the Pacific Northwest
our home, our evergreen.
manifest
I’ve made the decision to stop making commitments without careful consideration to how it will effect my personal well being. It is one part terrifying to seven parts pure elation.
ravenous
rav·en·ous [ rávvənəss ]
hungry: extremely hungry
greedy for something: greedy for something, especially for the gratification of wants or desires
predatory: voracious and predatory
apologies for the orange paper
poor orange,
weird and misplaced
yellow, quieter
gentler, bright
innocent and polite
not like green
bold, fantastic, everything
all the patterns in life
red, my god
hell, sex and hunger
blissful heat, passion and fire
and blue
the big
deep
ocean
that’s it
hey brown
murky, muddy
dirt and wood
there’s grey
all slate and industry
exaulting, cities
lonely and beautiful
white, bright light
cotton, wind and lace
and black
perfect
black.
(ohwoops, purple. how we always seem to forget you)
silver
maybe we’re warm on wine
both washed in a monochrome, pain
out the window, milky bright-dark
touch is precious
like a pearl or a poppyseed
indulgent and simple,
skin between blood and blood
silvered and calm,
trees between night and night
let the night be dark
broken bone,
the body is pain
I met you, leaving the light on
heavy heart
veins hung on hands
as lonely tangled banners
letting out that heavy lovin’ shit
a broken heart build is slow
broken bones, I know your body is pain
let the night be dark
you won’t forget your light on
woodsmoke, fall air
I know you ain’t used to it
empty cabinets, fingers over
father’s strings
I know you ain’t used to it
let the night be dark,
you won’t forget to leave your light on
whitefeather
What? What? What?
The next morning I awoke early, dreadful breathing sighs into chamomile tea. I walked to work, tears breaking as waves. Later we drove to the site of your crash, where your family was already gathered. The sun was high and hot. We listened and walked as members of your tribe lead us from the end point, where your car came to rest. Back through where you tumbled and spit shards of glass and plastic, back, back where the grass was barely bent, to where you swerved off Old Olympic Highway. There weren’t even marks on the road. Back to the point where twenty-feet-further-you-wouldn’t-have-rolled. And we faced your mother while elders sang your spirit safely to the other side. I saw you laying in the field, pulling up grass and laughing.
I was dehydrated and head throbbing, numb. Oren bought us sandwiches and drove us to a bluff where we sat in the open hatchback shaded by trees. He made jokes and distractions; scooping up pebbles of time, and tossing them gently behind me.
where the ‘h’ is
thank you for the eggs I made for breakfast
thank you for the strong coffee
thank you for the only slightly windy beach
the barefootable sand, plentiful and randomly clapping barnacles
piles and piles of grooved blue muscles
we could eat forever
thank you for the dog dates,
naked board games, work visits and beer
thank you for taking me shooting up Black Diamond Road
and for letting me decide not to shoot
thank you for the warm bed,
the slugs and the frogs at night
thank you for braiding my hair, and talking shit
thank you for the empty house to write in
even though I didn’t write.
marvin gardens
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
horseradish
Lastnight we were at a party in a dream. We stepped outside and you lit up a cigarette of horseradish.
It was winter and summer at once. I hopped over little piles of snow, crunching ice. It was a beautiful day, and a clear night. We ducked and slid under a porch and crouched in the cool dirt. Sun and grass poked through the spaces between the wood, we were hidden away from the bustling neighborhood. I touched your arm. Your skin was golden and soft. You look fit, I said. You told me you’d been having sex on top of books. It’s been so long, ten years. We’re completely different people I suppose, I smiled and sat with my back against the house. You looked at me, so familiar. You leaned in to kiss me, laughed and our teeth clanked together.
I woke up this morning and a piece of my tooth had chipped off.
there is no book
today you’re milestoning miles away
and you are owning life in fistfuls,
for you there will always be poems
I think of you fine, like eating all my greens
I think of you fine, like one more whiskey shot
my love for you, discovered nameless
uncovered, a swirling, effortless brook
you are a rare bird,
beautiful, and flown from the pages
body as a nest,
there is no book.
stay bolden
night is a calm wisdom that winds down circular
spinning gently as a floating flower with the year’s end
the road is a lapis knife splitting air between the trees
so,
do I want it ruby rhinestone gems
glinting in thick whipped mash-potato life-line splat
or heavy-cut dripping open orange oil tang meat
we are content or we are going to be
s/ ladd’s addition
/I wanted to tell you I remembered that day in the roses/
I wanted to tell you that
I do remember some things,
I remember that night in the roses
a stranger turned friend at happy hour
with the drop of a whatever he’s having
a tweed cap and a journal to pass the time
while he waited on the lunar eclipse
scheduled sometime between
us eating chocolate, legs swinging atop a mossy ledge
and
slow dancing in the last of the wet summer blooms
confusing the steps and laughing up steam
I remember that night in the roses
too narrow sidewalks pushed us into single file,
two butts, one bike, past wiry wet lavander
I interrupted the parade to wax poetic about the Pleiades
recalling the seven sisters and other witches
while she schemed a surprise third-date-kiss,
that would feel like a first
something a little less alcoholic to lift us,
out of our indivudual and unspoken sorrows
I remember that day in the roses
sun glitttered the blood colored blossoms, fallen, dripping and done
a tender and light-footed pair,
we were penciling new maps, fingering mosses
through the newly hollowed structures of our past
I was shamelessly swollen and open,
walking boldy on a half-healed broken heart
and you were somewhere between,
wrapped in new bliss and deja vu
and for the first time in two years
almost content with I am just I
and you are just you.
first blood
(found this, written a year ago)
I wake before morning
dark, moonlight
surprised to find my body naked
leftover wetness from a dream
smile sweetly, indulging
diagonal on the bed
and in the morning, first blood
potato bugs
we are potato bugs
and that’s ok
you are the most gorgeous person
gorgeous because I like the way
the word sounds thick,
rich and too much
I am blown back by the sun
you make me feel rich
like I should be
we’re so rich
like we should be
the dirt is the blood
The rocks are the bones and the dirt is the blood. The birds are just spirits rising up up up.
The landscape changed tree by tree by tree. I measured distance in road signs indicating which ruminant to avoid barrelling into. The days seemed so distinct, but now are bleeding into one another. I forgot to make an intention before I set out, but everyday I repeated a reminder: safety, bravery, wonder and pride.
Safety
I felt safe where I slept. I never locked the side door. Once in Whitehorse I woke from the cold and wondered if it would only get colder in the following nights. But I was ok, and the nights became warmer and warmer until I didn’t need the wool.
When I felt unsafe because of ice or winding roads and other cars I would reach out and touch the glass piece Laurel made dangling from the rear view mirror. I would touch the handmade card from the librarians back in Alaska.
I felt unsafe on the side of the road, stopping to pee or walk in the woods. The stillness after hurling myself 100km/hr was frightening. Inside the van with the dog is where I felt safe.
Bravery
The way I’m brave is confusing to me. Like, I’ll drive alone 2,500 miles in winter, but won’t drink the first espresso pull of the day.
I convinced myself to be brave in the dark, when I was not able to see the road. I was afraid to go the speed limit. I wouln’t be able to stop if an animal was in the road. I had to trust that there was only pavement in front of me. I had to trust that the people who make the rules knew it was ok to drive this fast through these curves and truckers do it all the time. People do this all the time.
I woke up at dawn in Liard River. I ate eggs and toast in the lodge and learned a local secret: the hotsprings are supposed to be open year round, with a $15 fee, but the person in charge just leaves for the season with the gates and doors unlocked for anyone to use. The place was deserted when I got there. Sign posts told me dogs were prohibited but I couldn’t bear leave her in the car. We tromped along the creaky ice covered boardwalk surrounded by a frozen marsh. I wasn’t sure how far into the woods the pools were and the farther we disappeared into the trees the more uneasy I felt. I worried about bears and moose and bison and murderers. I am so afraid of bears. Mostly, I think, because I have never encountered one. Kote pulled hard on the leash trying to dive off of the boardwalk into the marsh. “You’re going to kill us both!” I grunted frustrated and freezing. By the time I could see the pools the little wisps of hair poking out of my hat aroung my face were frosty and white. There was steam floating all around in the air. I walked up to where I saw signs for a restroom and pulled open the door to the women’s toilet. I stopped short and decided that if there was someone out here targeting someone vulnerable, they would probably be hiding in the women’s room, so I went to the mens and laughed at myself and the thought of gender designated bathrooms in the woods. Gender conformity in the middle of nowhere. By the main pool I set down my things, leashed Kote to the railing of the deck and peeled off my clothes. I was excited by the thought of the warm water and a free bath after having been on the road for four days without a shower. I was marvelling at the earth and the gift of this secret forest bath. I was naked, steaming, in the water in the woods in the middle of nowhere. How wild, how fortunate I was to be there. I didn’t stay long, the worries of getting on the road and making good time crept back in. I dressed feeling warm, feeling free, and feeling proud.
Wonder
What a gift to have five days of sun and snow and caribou and bison and ravens. Blue sky, coffee, music and the road. The space to feel and the time to cry. I flew through pages of drawings and letter writing, so inspired. What a gift the road is. What a gift to be free. Tied to nothing but eating and sleeping and shitting with my pup. What a gift to sing and sing and forget about all the bullshit and to deepen my love for good friends left behind.
In Whitehorse I was thankful for a bakery with good coffee and scones and hummus wraps. I was puzzled by the fact that every other woman that walked by looked like a dyke. I was tickled by the hippie dude that exclaimed, excited by the CUNT LOVE sticker on my coffee mug I had been trying to hide.
I stopped on the side of the road to watch bison munch on grass and lounge around. Big noses and burly necks. I laughed at Kote who gave them a steady low growl. I fell in love with the cute white butts of caribou. I noticed how the ravens were much smarter about the road than any of the other birds. I was awestruck by thoughts of birth and breath and fluid bonding by ancestral blood.
Pride
I am so proud to have lifted this body. Carried it out of places so far behind me, to tumble down down down the land. Rolling like a kid down a hill. On to the next adventure. I did it, I did it, I did it!
Lastnight a friend read these words as part of a Mikveh ritual: “There is no house apart from the body, as we have written: May our tradition become a house for us, and may our bodies be our home within it.” And that’s what I’m talkin’ about.
fantastic piece of shit
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
a list of things I do instead of calling you
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
homeless with money is a boring series of cafes
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.
a bath or I’m about to be twenty-four
I mix in with the water
first, blood between my legs
then tears
I float
I bled twice as long after fearing pregnancy
I hold my tongue when I mean it
and say what I don’t mean to
I used to love swishing my hair slowly
back and forth like a mermaid
is my voice underwater more or less real?
are our reactions or our decisions
more or less real?
I’m giving her too much of my heart
she doesn’t want it
once, we got to 36 levels of Jenga
which is how I’ve stacked this all up
this morning there were coins in the bed
he said they were stuck to his legs
he’s gonna name the baby August
I’d name a baby August too
don’t compliment my eyes
I said
it’s too easy
he makes me feel sexy and rejected at once
he didn’t save me from hurting
like I thought he would
I want a life with her
beside her
but I want her to be by my side too
we’re teasing out the ends
which is responsibility?
and which is accountability?
self-guilt
doubt
blame?
I hold my tongue when I mean it
and say what I don’t mean
but sometimes
I’m just telling the truth
I turn on my side
and rest my head on the wall of the tub
I think I’ve done this position before
in my mama’s womb
heaven is hotter than hell
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
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