7.26.2014

112+

lets talk about the space we occupy. tell me how you used to be so insecure about your height. how your boney knees don't bother you as much anymore. and your ears have filled in quite nicely. how you pay attention to your gestures, especially during hostile confrontation and/or before you make moves. 

ask me why i hate my knees. and ill tell you because i wish they were boney like yours. then ill tell you a story within a story and you'll have to laugh because i will will it. and it won't be a quiet chuckle, i  will watch your belly dance, and ill admit to my nervous habits. how i pick things apart. i'll tell you about the weight i carry. and how it seems that my value keeps shrinking, and yet i feel the heaviest i've ever been. 

7.24.2014

sun in the evening, not san francisco, 
but a santa ana: a steinbeck kind of metaphor of a mountain,
a salinas kind of thighs, under you
i've embraced july in private,
each day i remembered why,
its hard to say goodbye,
a june bug kind of love,
a kiss within july,
july july july 

7.20.2014

orchestra

i've heard 
the percussion snaring 
up the years, a back
bone i thought. 
trum pets and trom
bones,  i've loved!
found your violin and 
given away my 
oboe, i've cried! 
but this body is 
not 
a bassoon. 
a piccolo. 
a french horn. 
i know in order for an orchestra to exist, 
performers must 
make love,
but i don't play any instruments

7.14.2014

anchored choke

santa ana, i gave you
what lasting bits, i worked
so hard for-- and in 
return
you gave me a quiet 
room. can you at least tell me
that i will be ok, or do 
i have to say that, too?


7.10.2014


i try to remember the extasy 
of having choice,
bellying laughter instead
off springing back & forth, 
as you said,
"the grayest of grays,"
has found you. 

7.07.2014

terrain

learn not to be angry with the moon,
for keeping you awake.
learn to be grateful to him,
for keeping you away.


7.02.2014

in dependence

"don't you dare drop a single tear, your tears don't work on me, if i see you drop. just one.---"

life is the softener when you wash your sheets, molding molecules to fiber in a sweet lavender, tumbling and tangled, gently bending the cotton for you to blanket. and here i am, for the first time in my life hearing my father give me permission, declaring, "arijana, cry so hard. cry. cry it out. say it out. cry over it. and then, arijana, then; laugh."