you were leaning against the windows of the fudge store
looking bored, way too cool
pawing the silver chain around your neck
i walked by, flip flops catching between wooden boards
i swear
i didn't trip on purpose
but you laughed just the same
in the ocean the next day
what a happy accident, really
you'd been treading water not far away
i pretended to get pinched by a crab
the silver glistened against that too tan skin
the glint disappeared under the water as you made your way toward me
"are you okay?"
"yeah there's just something in the--"
i jumped again, feigning pain
there was nothing there, of course
the waves rolled over our shoulders
we moved with them so easily
the next day we had greasy clam strips
cold tartar sauce
salt and wind in our hair
sitting on a carefully laid out towel
"can you tell me about your family in jersey, again?"
no, that's silly
i wasn't even listening the first time
just watching the way your neck looked
every time you swallowed
i used to think the ocean was scary
its dark, endless, rolling currents
dragging us all to the horizon
frightening creatures in the depths
sunlight disappearing over our heads
is this where we're all born?
but that's where i first talked to you
a lie bubbling from the deep
rushing to get some air
up here on the shore it's much brighter
we can go inside the fudge shop now
ride the ferris wheel
buy books from the little shop off oak avenue
i still have the bookmark we got
pressed between the sandy pages
of the swarm from schatzing
it's travelled with me on all my moves
cemented to that bookshelf
i know i'll never read it because
i'm not into the english translation
and i don't think that shrines should be disturbed
Tag: writing
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i’m not patriotic, and not because i hate the states or anything.
i mean, okay lets be so for real — i do not like the direction and path this country has fallen into but patriotism seems like such a silly thing when the world is so big.
being brought here as a baby and always being aware of the fact that i could have just as easily grown up on the other side of the world, i’ve never felt any sense of attachment to like… anywhere i’ve been? i don’t really know how to describe it. always loved moving. shaking things up. collecting stories.
i think the closest i’ve felt to loss when it comes to a “place” is when my parents sold the house i spent the majority of my youth growing up in. it was our third home at that point, but it’s where we had stayed the longest. it was always a constant in my life. i could always count on going home for the holidays and being inside, all cozy in front of the fire.
it seems silly to me to feel patriotism for … what? land? a place? arbitrary human-made borders on the land masses that managed to break through the ocean?
i associate patriotism with over zealous xenophobic people. proud people. unflinchingly accepting ideals proposed by the government. maybe that’s what the states have done to my brain. or maybe i did it to myself.
i would really enjoy if my feelings toward the word changed, but i fear it might be a while until that happens. i’d like to feel proud. i’d like to know that we’ve done the right thing; protected people. shown love to immigrants. but i don’t know if that is possible. time and action will tell.
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okay, so a long time ago when i was a freshman in college i had this friend who was dating a hockey player. watching hockey was about the only exciting thing i could that first year — besides meet boys who kept holding my hand but then told me they weren’t actually attracted to men? it was all maddeningly frustrating.
anyway, that first hockey game i went to? yeah, i was SAT. it’s so fast and quick and it seems like the players are flying! i’d always found air hockey thrilling, especially as a child when we’d go to bars as a family and my sister and i needed to be distracted while we waited for the food to arrive.
i kept going to the games. it was fun. always hated sports. except hockey was just such fun to watch. it was fast! you had to pay attention. there were fights! loved it.
i signed up for an ice skating class my college offered later that year. i was under no illusion that i would ever be able to play hockey. i couldn’t even stand up straight on ice skates, and big beautiful thighs were so far away from any realm of possibility for me that i had resigned myself to one simple fact — i just needed to get the basics. i needed to get on the ice and try it out.
it was tremendously fun. i learned how to do crossovers, skate backward, skate very quickly, jump, and catch people as we skated backward. it was fantastic. i loved it. there is just something so incredibly freeing about flying around on the ice. oh, and added bonus — our final exam for this class was a group choreographed dance using all of the moves and techniques we’d acquired during the semester. we chose to do “bad romance” from lady gaga since i think that had just come out and there’s a video of us performing this somewhere, but i hope i never see it again.
the rest of time goes by as it always does. i went to some hockey games in the town i was living in, after college, and i found them enjoyable, but the team wasn’t terribly good. there was one star wars game i remember going to and it was so cool to see darth vader gliding around on the ice brandishing red lightsabers.
i fell out of going to hockey when i moved to the city i live in now and my long latent enjoyment of the sport revived itself with these game changer books. heated rivalry really did me in.
and by did me in, i mean i felt like these books gave me permission to write the things i want to write and get back in touch with myself. i know it’s corny, but i’d been self-censoring myself with my own writing. i write a lot of words that don’t ever see the light of day, and i spent and even larger amount of time sanitizing those words to be palatable — to who? i have no idea.
but, reading about hockey, reading about these characters whose experiences were similar to mine (and vastly different in others) was exhilarating. and of course it reignited my interest in hockey.
so i went to a hockey game a couple weeks ago, and i’m going to another one tomorrow. it’s great fun and i’m enjoying being back outside, without the numbing effects of alcohol to propel me through, and it’s nice to be part of a crowd all trying to manifest one thing. a delicious win.
i’ll never be able to play hockey, but i sure as hell enjoy watching it.
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dream job? honestly, would love to get paid to write things. have people be interested in the worlds and stories i’ve created.
it’s weird because when we’re writing, no one is looking, no one is reading, no one even knows this is occurring (usually), but the words and worlds are places i like to get lost in. they’re so real to me, all consuming. they’re like a place of safety for me where i can just journey off somewhere in my imagination, mold everything the way i want, and then feel peace there.
i don’t know, if i could bring the feelings of adventure, mystery, and romance to other people — the way i bring it to myself and have fun while doing so, then i think that would be really cool.
i just like telling stories and i don’t know if i’m good at it, but it’s certainly a dream job of mine to be able to do that. i have to just keep practicing and learning!
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there's an evil calm that snakes its way through this house
a quiet light that's almost too faint to see
and as i lie here on my back
i look up at the twinkling stars
the reds
the greens
the occasional flashes of stucco walls
i feel myself rising up to meet them
even though i think i'm light years away
i can hear the upstairs neighbors yelling
because sometimes
sometimes
love
isn't the answer
and gravity is too hard to bear
tales from the cove 