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.

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.

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.

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

portraits at the house

Anda Saylor drew my portait as part of her residency at HOUSE.

you can’t say you’re an asshole just so you can be one

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.

27 haiku

Last week I wrote and sent 27 valentines. Inside each of them was a personalized haiku.

—————————

what’re you afraid of?
think of you watching planes land,
and still want a date.

it’s the way you walk,
hands in pocket, attitude,
like me of you, proud.

remember that time,
you kissed me through the window?
yeah, that was hot.

I know you hate love
this is not a valentine,
’cause the paper’s black.

you, soft and simple
a not so stealth apple thief
bones fused, strong, steady.

so what if you’re gay?
I would still sit on your face,
if you asked me to.

I miss your warm chest,
a place to curl, and yet,
I’m happy you’re well.

tiny little tulip
spry, even-paced and lovely,
not so secret bitch.

revealed your grey
so proud of your graceful strength
love you more than words.

sweet and gentle man,
wish for you soft fur of dog
snow white, with black nose.

such lovely ladies
miss those Betty Davis eyes
come visit some time.

midnight doughnut fight
with you turning vegetable
and love you always.

hot honey hearts,
we let each other under
our precious gold manes.

loved you for your mind,
even more your tender heart
but you still a bitch.

my O. G. lady,
ink-stained apron, golden braids,
and deep whale clicks.

solid foundation,
hope you know that I love you,
miss and cherish you.

glowing like glitter,
your enormous loving heart
no haiku could hold.

how can you leave me?
thousand years I will suffer
without your cute butt.

long grounded fingers,
showing me the light inside
how can I repay?

I hate the way you drive,
but love your sweet face
so it evens out.

I love you so much,
what would I do without you?
I mean, no homo.

not many like you,
a sun in this frigid North,
please don’t ever stop.

your voice ecstasy,
wild stallion on stage
show me your package?

lovely, fat and hot
give us clothes to shake it in,
and love ourselves more.

you, lion tamer
amazing sense of humor,
miss our morning laughs.

lovely precious cub,
I am not longer afraid
to say I love you.

it’s getting warmer
summer comes first in Fairbanks,
I’d let you come first.

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 walk with emily

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.

unexpected magic

Lastnight something extraordinary happened.

Two years ago my good friend was going through a painful break up. He had planned on visiting his girlfriend in Portland in the fall and a few weeks before his trip they ended things. He couldn’t return the ticket, so he went anyway and tried to make the most of it by hanging out with Alaskan friends he had there. One night his friends threw a party and I found him in the basement playing music and drinking PBR. We sang some songs, but mostly we talked about his break up. He was very sad, I consoled him. He just wanted to go to bed, but there was a party happening on the couch he had been sleeping on. I told him he could come sleep at my house. We were the affectionate type of friends. We had drunken sex once when I was sixteen, but that was five years in the past. Our friendship had always been charged with sexual electricity and mutual flattery (we’re both fierce Leos) but the boundaries of our friendship had remained platonic. 

So we climbed into bed and I was the big spoon. I felt so much love for this dear friend and was glad to be there to comfort him. I held him tight and told him I loved him. Content, my mind settled and I started to drift off. After a few minutes he took my hand and pushed it towards his crotch. Really? I thought, really? I moved my hand back to his shoulders thinking maybe I had imagined it. I dozed. It happened again. I told him I wasn’t interested. He apologized. A few minutes later he tried AGAIN. Shocked, I ripped my arm away from him and turned to face the wall. At this point I was actually pissed off. Not five minutes later I heard rustling in the bed. I opened my eyes, staring at the wall. He was masturbating in my bed. I was frozen. My mind was spinning with rage and feelings of violation. I should have kicked his ass out of my studio apartment. But I couldn’t, I was paralyzed.

In the morning we said nothing. I faked a hug goodbye and didn’t talk to him again for two years. It was easy to avoid him because we lived in different states. I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to make up and I didn’t think he would even know or take seriously what he had done wrong. He was self-absorbed, condescending, and slightly misogynistic and I couldn’t explain things like consent to my non-feminist friends without coming across like a Man-Hating Bitch. I knew I would never get the resolution I wanted and I didn’t want a shallow and insincere friendship with him. So we did not talk. I wrote a poem about it and it felt really good, but I don’t like it anymore.

So, when I came home to Alaska this summer I didn’t know how to act around him. I still thought what he did was wrong, but I didn’t feel like ignoring him was going to work, plus I wasn’t Super-Pissed anymore. We made small talk and I was awkward. He made subtle comments acknowledging that there hadn’t been any contact in the last two years. I pretended not to notice. This went on all summer, he said a lot of things like “You’re different. Why are you so quiet?”. I shrugged it off.

And then there was lastnight.

I went to see White Magic at a bar downtown. I was out on the patio, saw him there and felt like I should say Hi. We made small talk, and I felt uncomfortable. Then he called me out. In an unaccusatory tone he told me I had been acting weird all summer, why? I told him that I didn’t know how to explain it to him, but that I was over it, so let’s put it behind us. He plainly and uncondescendingly asked me to try to explain it. Oh, what the hell, I thought. I told him that it was about when I saw him in Portland. That I hadn’t been interested in sex and he had pushed my boundaries and I felt really shocked and violated by it.

And then he apologized.

He said that he was in a rough place and made a bad decision to try to make himself feel better, but that it didn’t excuse his behavior. He said that he was very sorry he had made me feel violated and knew that I wasn’t even interested in men at the time and even if I was, he should have backed off when I told him to. He was sincere. In his eyes I could tell he had been thinking about this for a long time. He had put himself in my shoes, thought about my feelings and felt remorse. On. His. Own. There he was, in a fucking bar, saying EXACTLY what I needed him to, without my help.

I may be wrong, but I feel like this is not a typical outcome to such a story. Magic. What unexpected magic!

I feel so good about this. And it gives me a LOT of hope.