relocation

so this is what happens when the heat settles over us at last, and the grime on my jeans sinks in for good. i wish the sugar packets in their rainbow of colors would open to show crystals of pink and blue and yellow and brown; we could mix them into magic potions to sweeten our stews and cast reckless spells on rainy day wishes.

but first the more practical ones - endless bus rides, train rides, everything but bike rides when my wheel is bent from that careful collision, that entanglement of pedals frames limbs smashing to the concrete and we both emerged with scrapes and bruises but my two-wheeler is injured to the point of replacement, to the point of me and my two feet walking two miles at two in the morning past not one but two memorials for drive-by shooting victims (and what sort of place do we live in anyhow?) to end up with blisters on heels and bangs in eyes while we climb to the rooftop to watch smoke and songs drift up from below on red wine vapors and cigarette grins. collapse in the grass and roll our eyes at boys who don't get it, shake head arms feet hair fast fast fast and explode out into the night into the street making eyes at beauties on bikes. sure they all look the same but it's in the way we like them, tall and wispy and redundant.

please just be something new. someone unfamiliar. i want to take you on a date to that restaurant, the one where we'll sit on the patio and share horchata & chips, and i'll wear my new dress and you'll stare at my chest and afterwards i'll let you walk me home. i wish the sidewalk would melt. it's getting lonely here in this house furnished entirely with milk crates and rolling papers and postage stamps. i'm bedless and yr phone is unplugged and we haven't been home in decades. my birthday's kind of soon - don't forget to send a card.

finals week; finality; finally

I smell like cigarettes and sleep deprivation, like the desperation that comes from last-minute scrambles for the deadline, like leaning yr head against a brick wall and staring up through tired eyelashes to a sky that is somehow already getting light. And when I wake from too-short naps in the morning with the blankets twisted under me forcing me into strange contortions, when I unfold my leadweight limbs and creep into another day, I wake from dreams of linguistic symbols and lurid emails, shaking sleep from my hair and checking to see if these responsibilities are still real.

(they are)




and maybe tonight we’ll wash it all away with triumphant grins and drinks in the dark. and if morning touches us we’ll cheer, proud not to have wasted the night. I want the fingers of dawn to be a revelation once more and not a punishment, not a reminder that time is ticking by too fast when all i envision is darkness to soothe me to rest.