Townie for some weeks

A blend of heavy drinking, heavy sleeping, family time and catching up with long lost friends has been my winter break thus far (more of the first and last together).

I chalk it up to the fact that I'm making up for lost time. This last semester I worked, wrote, wrote some more, and in my free time was too tired to socialize or do anything but sleep or watch The Office (and Gossip Girl, I shamefully admit). It feels nice to have absolutely nothing to do.

I feel like I had more to write five minutes ago.....apparently I'm a little rusty with the whole blogging thing. It's been a while. Or maybe it's just that the last three weeks can really be summed up in that first paragraph.

It's a good thing I don't live in this town. A frightening image of myself ten years from now is too easily conjured up when I think about it: 33 year-old stay-at-home mom with with three kids, a husband in construction, a dog (or two) who spends her time in a bathrobe and slippers, baking bread, darning her hubbie's socks, and occasionally submitting freelance articles to the Daily Courier for extra cash and an ego boost..

I better get a summer internship somewhere--anywhere--that takes me away to another, far my interesting and diverse city (San Diego, San Fran, NYC??) Something will have gone terribly awry in my career plans if I end up here this coming summer.

Keep your fingers crossed for me....

The Feast

The invitation in

a swirling cursive script

tied with a ribbon

red

arrives requesting my presence at the sweeping

stretching estate

When I come he takes

my gloved hand

white

a finger on my wrist

pulse racing

regret and hunger folded into

his gaze

I am led through a maze

of candelabra and stale cigarette

smoke and his smile flickers

lingers then withers

dies

“Shall we my dear?” he whispers pulling back a chair

in a room dark as a grave with a table

polished like a casket and

I wouldn’t mind bleeding here dying

here staying forever

here

Dinner is a bloody slab of meat he

severs and slices

blade scraping fork as he brings the carcass

to his lips

gnaws it off, face in a sneer

whatever is, whatever was

disappears

His mouth at my ear, jaw

throat

can’t think can’t speak he

steals thoughts and words like

a thief and I’m lapping the spilled wine

from the table like a cat

cleaning herself in the street

Chew me up swallow me

whole

kiss my red wine lips

hard

you are

an animal

Untitled poem

We are so fragile

it is amazing our bodies

aren’t broken coming out

of the womb

bones crushed

to a fine white powder

and swept away when the breeze

picks up

City of God

Here is a gun
Take it and make yourself useful, kid
Go find someone you don’t like
Someone who stole from you
Or called you a name
Or bumped you in the street
And shoot them dead

And don’t you worry about the mess
The sun will dry the blood
It will flake off
No one will remember
Or care
In a day or two

We will stomp their bodies in the streets
Fill our cups
And toast to a city
That is ours

So take the gun
(No charge)

Tell your friends

Filth

Every day we bathe and shower and try
failing
to rinse the layers of grime from our broken bodies

we scrub and scour
in circular patterns that leave us itchy and depleted

but are we ever clean? maybe for a minute
or an hour
or maybe never

like the sour smell under my fingernails
after mincing
cloves and cloves of garlic

it lingers for days despite
the soap
and water routine

we are stained oh holy god
we are stained
and nothing washes away these sins

I am already deteriorating
at the age
of 22

Poetry n' things

I decided I'm going to post some poetry I've been writing over the semester in my intro poetry class.

Most of it is dark and depressing, so for those of you who know me, take it with a grain of salt. My worst thoughts often come out when writing, but I usually feel better afterwards.

Untitled

In my dream last night

we spoke in Italian in long

fluid phrases I can't now recall

Remembering the words is like trying to read this page

under the ripple and swell

of small waves

It is like trying to see your features

in that dark room

with only splinters of light

making their way in through the shades

Did I speak them aloud into the tangles of my sheets?

Was I finally able to roll my R’s?

Did you hear me

halfway around the world

while you were awake?