Monthly Archives: January 2010

pin holes into the sky, part 2.

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


a visual

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

so good, I thought I started my period

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

can I ask you a favor?

Hi there,

If you read here regularly, or even if you don’t… What is your favorite post? What would you like to see more of when it comes to style or content? I’m curious to know more about your perspective as a reader. Don’t be shy!

Thank you!

a kiss goodnight

I remember how good you were to me
I remember yellow walls, like butter
I remember feeling uncomfortable, unfamiliar
in the big city
back when I was afraid of new things

I remember your mother’s kind smile
I remember her hands
out of the city I remember the rolling hills
I shrugged my shoulders at them then
but they are breath taking in my memory
I remember the dog sleeping underneath the steps

I remember falling in love with your writing
I wish I could remember it now
I carried your picture around
showing it off, I was so proud of you

I remember my blood staining your bed
a coffee ring on a wooden table
laying in your bed
inspecting your curls, and gentle eyes
I remember your shyness
and my eagerness

I remember watching you play guitar
painting your nails black
singing to you that night on the block before your mother’s home
I remember light through the blinds
the morning your mom caught us together in bed

we played Nine Inch Nails and Tool the first time
I had asked my best friend what cum tasted like
tears, she said
how romantic, I thought
but it didn’t taste like tears

I loved you in whatever way fourteen year olds can love
you know, I’m still the same, back and forth
fickle and confused about love
how might things be different now
if I hadn’t treated your heart like a doormat?

I remember one night you sat on the edge of the bed
tucking me in, under high ceilings
I remember your beautiful sincere face as I closed my eyes
and you softly kissed me goodnight

egan saves christmas

Things with Friend had deflated a few days into the trip, with our plans to go to Forks, WA cancelled even sooner. Little Bird was upset that I was sleeping with her and other people at the same time and had asked me to find another place to stay. So I was laying on the big couch at Egan’s house fussing with my waistband. Cramping and singing quietly along to an old Tori Amos VHS , the sugar skulls on the mantle my audience. I felt like my guts were going to fall out, but I was happy. I was cradling a really really stong cup of coffee from the french press,watching the flecks of almond and coffee grounds swirling all together and knowing that the caffine might actually be making me feel worse.  I love that Tori looks like she’s getting off when she sings. She was singing about roses and I thought about all the roses in Portland, now dead wet rolled up brown pieces of paper. I thought of the gigantic dead sunflower stalks across the street with their squishy white button tops. Everyone talks shit about the gloomy, rainy Portland winters, but I love it. I thought about how I was to return home in a few days and how nothing on this trip had gone as planned. “You are so cute right now”, Egan said as he came into the living room. I thought he was talking to the cat sleeping on a puzzle. “Just sitting here bleeding and watching Tori…” I smiled and thought yeah, this is exactly where I need to be right now.

Later, I felt better and I rode the bus down to the Hollywood district to the dog daycare I used to work at. My ex co-worker had arranged to sneak me in to see some of my old dog friends. There he was, Quincy, my four year old vizsla boyfriend. He remembered me and so did all the others. It was an amazing feeling to be back with those dogs I had cared about so much.

I left the daycare with a spring in my step and sang out loud walking on the overpass on my way to meet Egan. We met outside Grand Central and he handed me half a grilled cheese because he thought I might be hungry. I thought I might marry him. We caught the MAX downtown and sat so that everything rushed by backwards. Pioneer square looked like a movie, all of the lights and people rushing around christmas shopping . We talked about Aden and love and sex and gender and the past and the future. Egan is my favorite Leo of all time and every time we spend time together I am reminded of how amazing he truly is.

We stopped by Jackpot where he bought a special Efterklang record he was really excited about. After some time at Powells we headed to the bus and were stopped by an old friend from Anchorage who called to us out of the fancy bar she worked at in SW. She invited us in and gave us beer. We gave each other the cliff notes of our life and showed off new tattoos. “This is why I love Portland. Portland just gave us free beer!” I shouted as Egan and I ran to catch the bus.

Over the next two days we watched the Efterklang DVD that came with the record at least three times and I became a fan. I finished the scarf I was knitting for Friend that I had put so much energy into, like a metaphor. And I gave it to Egan as a token of my appreciation for saving my vacation with all the laughter and love.

On Christmas Eve Elena came over and watched Queen of the Damned with me. I gave them a speculum I had stolen from the hospital and we talked about love, relationships, abuse, celibacy and the emotional space we’ve had between us this past year.

On Christmas day I packed up my things, ate too much great food, and laughed with good people. As Egan drove me to the airport all I could think over and over was

How can I leave you? HOW CAN I LEAVE YOU?

pin holes into the sky

here there’s a certain kind of light just at dusk
blue stacked on white stacked on pink
the bare trees reach backlit black, upward

I don’t know what to say

a tattoo is made up of hundreds of single needle pricks
we’ve been going to fast
so we sit on the dirty carpet and poke intentionally
into each other
each point is an action
a map
I think of the one on my knee
jess you can
jess you are

in the black sky out the window
I watched the same star all the way back to Alaska
head full and heart heavy
knowing I’d forget the taste of Aden’s mouth
knowing I’d forget the clear color of the sky
what were you like as a kid?
did you get into trouble?
were you shy?

Alex said
that hummingbird and elephant hearts beat
the same number of times their whole lives
and that’s what relationships are like
is it true?
we all have a finite number of chances?

I told Beautiful she was the kind of girl I’d drop anything for
no matter where or who I was with
but I didn’t kiss her in the cabin in the woods underneath a stranger’s quilts
even though I wanted to
I remember vowing to become a musician just to sing a song for her

the people we leave our back doors unlocked for
planning trips and scheduling intimacy
climbing through each other’s windows
the friends we love, the friends we fuck
the love letters we’re writing behind our eyes when we talk
over coffee, over beers
great loves and perfect moments
slipping through our fingers and up into the sky
time and chance and distance
and sometimes working, sometimes not

I want your

f note
blue stars
four squares
puzzle pieces
black spruce
paw print
black bird
sinchi warmi
highbush cranberry
don’t worry
imaginary moon phases

I’ve never told you that I love you
I told you too soon
I tell you all the time
I don’t tell you enough