Bizarre thing with the cups

There was an old woman in the cafe and no one sat next to her
Her clothes were strange and smelled like mildew
Her eyes looked wild and lost
As she arranged 5 cups of water on the little table
we all gave this situation a wide berth
It was bizarre, the thing with the cups and I mean, her clothes
It's just
We didn’t know what to do about it.

But this man reached out totally casual and said something like

hi, how are you today? 

She smiled and held out her cell phone.
She asked if he could take her picture
so she could send it to her daughter

He did. Then
looking at the photo together
they both laughed.

That time we all shot ourselves in the leg and still tried to walk normal

Everyone does it
had done it
was doing it

We all shot ourselves in the leg

I felt distrust in this process
but we were preserving traditions

The consensus was
we walk around JUST FINE
eventually we don’t even BLEED

So I took a smooth cold gun and shot once into my upper thigh

The bullet dove deep
found a place in tissue and bone

          And, it became a part of me
          I walked without
          remembering the pain
          I was
          SO STRONG
          I was
          SO BAD

But one day I started burning

Long leg ghosts

When you are running from ghosts, you can bike or you can drink or you can flirt or you can make plans or you can work hard or you can love or you can betray or you can hurricane.

But these ghosts have long legs.
They take
tall strides until
they
are
Right behind you!

And then
they'll
Leap!

Onto your head!

And you’ll have to stop running and biking and drinking and flirting and making plans and working and loving and betraying and hurricane-ing
all at once because these ghosts are so heavy.

If a long leg ghost is on your head, listen to me. It may take full concentration and proper systems of organization to reason with it.

It could take tactics of open acknowledgement or feigned ignorance.

To coax a long leg ghost off your head
you could
take a vacation
or
sleep in a new place.

Try a few things and let me know.

Sorry.

I don't have the time to offer more options, I am running from them too!

When you have to be the strong one you can’t be a baby harp seal

SOMEONE HAS TO GET THIS TRAIN BACK ON THE RAILS!

Right now you can’t be the sweet baby
you can’t be helpless
and wide eyed
and crying
and blinking a lot.

Evolve your harp seal squeaks
into full sentences
Get out of your cloud bed
onto your feet
and watch what happens.

This transformation does not need to be extreme
you do not need to be a gangster
intimidating everyone.

You do not need to be
Pablo Escobar.

Take it easy. It is easy.

When you have to be
the strong one
you have to be a woman.

Kill me now American Airlines

I’ve just been trying
to get to Sarasota
It’s been 48 hours
Please
Just kill me now
American Airlines
You treat people like
they are not people
We hate you
and you hate us
because we are stressed
and yelling
at you
But it’s not YOU
feeling our pain
Just those that you employee
to withstand this abuse
until they become numb
and repetitive

I’m sorry there’s nothing we can do
I’m sorry there’s nothing we can do
I’m sorry there’s nothing we can do

Who are you really
American Airlines?
What does your face look like?
Is your house
beautiful?
And your family
healthy?
Just, listen to me
Your corporation is big and greedy
It is getting a dirty reputation
Do you care about this?

I’m just concerned
I’m just concerned every day, America

Jesus, God and all other gods

The moon is a cresent
I unlock my bike
The sky is blue and dark
It’s about 7pm

A man crosses the street
He quotes Jesus and asks me

Do you know who said that?

(I thought it was Dr. Sues
I get the question wrong)

Shocked, the man walks closer and says

NO! Jesus said this! And God said this!
And all other gods said this!

And the man is crazy
But I feel comfortable with him - no kidding!

We part ways
each continuing a search
for heaven on earth.

 

Rosewater

Her bedroom is cold in October. It chills the rose water sitting in glass bottles on the dresser. Several of the bottles are empty but she likes the way they look, lined up like relics in a temple. Spraying the water down her back, the skin rises up along her spine, a part of her body that curves in a way men like. A man she loves traces it with his finger. It is like a painting, he says.

Continuing the ritual, brushing the water through her hair because they say roses will maintain softness. Femininity has always been sacred to her. Femininity has always been easy to achieve in the privacy of her bedroom.

She paints her nails so that they may glitter in the sun to accompany expressive gestures in the company of friends. She pulls skinny jeans over her hips and ties her shoes in the same way she learned as a child.

Opening the door, the sun begins warming the top of her head as she grabs her bike and joins the flow of traffic. The wind rustles her hair as she balances between cars. The scent of roses mixes with the city and her heart beats in happiness. This is when life resembles poetry, she thinks, peddling up a hill.

Across the street there is shouting.

Hey! Nice Bike! I wish I was a bike so that you could ride me down the street! Haha! Hey. Do you hear me? Yeah bitch.

She looks over and stares. She has learned that to have a relationship with beauty in America, you will intimately know the cut of vulgarity. She has learned that to be soft within grit is an act of rebellion.

25 years of this, she thinks, looking away, reaching the top of the hill. 

She scans the city below and smiles.

Insomnia September

I couldn’t sleep for days
my hands began to shake
I was
forgetting things
hugging exes
crashing my bike
at the intersection

I sought out friends
and they took care of me

Mint tea
Glasses of water
A hug

Moments like these house pure love

Sparked by crashes
we wander around all opened up
hoping to be met with kindness
hoping to be strong again

Waking up on a couch, I walk
in the world a little
Bundles of honeysuckle
breathe sweetness
into September's cool air

There is a café and a book
The café plays a nice song

The world hums sweetly

Moments of silence

We were all just sitting around the table and my brother comes forward

He gets real, real about his struggle
I mean
you could see it on his face too
this whole time
the wild in his eyes
and how his mouth was trembling
But we were averting our eyes
to discuss oatmeal
We didn’t think
he would actually say something
at breakfast
So
it throws us off guard
We don’t know what to say
No one taught us how to respond
We all sit in silence
Pins drop
We can hear them
Rainfall of pins

Plink
plink
plink

We look down to see them collecting on the floor

Our friends have anxiety

A man I loved once loved me but
lost touch with reality and couldn’t love me anymore.

He was in my dream last night. We sat on a train and I felt so happy but
my hand was wrapped up tightly in a piece of string.

It dug into my skin. It hurt. It was hindering my abilities.

He took the string between his pointer finger and thumb
carefully unwinding around and around until
finally
the terrorist thread

let go

leaving behind

just a pink memory
a blameless indentation.

It took a long time to unravel but
we were still there
sitting on the train.

He held my hand.

Snow / Ice / Water

All the women I love
are fixing guitar strings
or sitting quietly to paint the day with delicate caution.

One day in August
the women I love start to fade.
Melting like those glaciers
they sink beneath water to retreat a world growing hot.
I say, wait! 
But their hair is already drifting dark patterns on the waves.

Some reasoned
they were too sensitive.
We are animals, really. This is survival of the fittest.

But if a country cannot take care of the gentle
if it relies only on strength...
Well, we are back to where we started
but with fewer souls singing us home towards peace.

 

3 Haikus about why Ohio is shitty and like a jail

Written after viewing the police shooting video of Philando Castile and then the video of his girlfriend and child in the back of a police car and his girlfriend is screaming, then the video of the police carrying disabled people out of Sen. Mitch McConnell's office, and then the video of police brutality towards a Laotian American with the same name and skin color as my boyfriend. But people have little to say because they work all the time.

The ozone is shit
My grandparents bought a gun
Sunburn in no time 

It’s purgatory
The police pushed my sister
I ESCAPED PRISON

And my skin cleared up
But I came back for my friends
We are the inmates

Women Who Travel Alone

Learning how to be alone and comfortable.
At night. On the weekends.
Eating solo when everyone else is with a friend or with family.

These things are not easy.

I look at old men alone, having a beer and I try to mirror their confidence.
But real confidence comes from seeing other women traveling alone,
eating alone, sitting at a café,
looking inward or outward.

I’m reminded that I chose this path for a reason.

A woman alone is often thinking and feeling (and crying?) 
She has time to know herself
to know what she wants
what is helping her,
what is hurting her.

She has time to love and to lose and to love and to lose.
She will learn what to pursue and what to avoid.

A woman traveling alone will breathe in the space.
She will walk with the people and drink their wine.
There will be friends and men and ideas.
There will be euphoria and love.
There will be persistent loneliness, an ache.

There will be striking beauty
which, 
only seems to amplify this loneliness.

There will be hangovers.
There will be all day spent in a bed that is not her own
but in which she must
take care of herself.

And the creeping questions
she will ask in dark places; 
what is she doing here?
Why did she come here?
And the doubt; 
this is crazy,
she is crazy,
she is a crazy woman. 

But there will be the day that follows. 

She will get up
and the sun is out
She greets the city as her home. 

 

Crying again in Las Palmas

In Las Palmas the airport looks over the sea. I feel full of Chinese food and oxytocin. Everyone at the airport looks great. Drinking matcha at the Starbucks and thinking about the faces of my friends. Of the digital nomads on the roof. Of entrepreneurs. Of spreadsheets. Of his face at night. And then I cry because I will miss this life. And then I cry because I feel lucky to know Las Palmas, to know freedom and business strategy and international friendship. Currently I have a friend named Lara, a friend named Laura, AND a friend named Lauren. They are all so cool. This is a cake life! It is so rich!

The plane takes off. I am in the middle seat in the middle aisle. The man next to me reads Harry Potter. I cry again and feel fine about it.

Casa Suecia

Dehydrated and depressed.

If these things are related by cause and effect
then water should fix this
in the way that water fixes everything.

Two days ago I was a model.
One day ago I was delirious.
Last night I was in heaven.
Today I feel fat.

At this moment
in a café I'm surrounded
by a gathering of nicely dressed abuelas.
I wonder
Have they felt these things? Are they happy now?

They do not look dehydrated.
nor do they look depressed.

Likely because they have family and routine and compromise.

The abulelas do not
make themselves suffer.

The abuelas remember
to drink water.