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In your next letter I wish you'd say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays, and after the plays
what other pleasures you're pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road goes round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you're in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can't catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.

—Wheat, not oats, dear. I'm afraid
if it's wheat it's none of your sowing,
nevertheless I'd like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.
01 July 2011 @ 12:19 pm
by Kirsten Smith

He comes in late to buy an éclair.
He claims to be
a physics student on sabbatical
but you’re pretty sure
he’s a hobo on holiday.
You are the baker’s daughter.
He’s the wrong kind of boy
for a cream-puff like you
but you love his eyes,
the color of pickles,
you love his hands,
which have never kneaded anything.
When you kiss, your head fills
with Xs and Ys, not teaspoons and half-cups.
You want him to cover your kitchen
with Newton’s Second Law,
you want him to make every pie a love pie,
you want him to sneak inside your stove,
burn the gingerbread,
collapse the strudel,
change the cakes from something sweet
into slices of the forbidden –
tell-tale icing
on the lip of someone
who says they don’t eat cake
and then secretly devours it whole.
03 January 2011 @ 12:36 pm
January: "so you are saying you were never the right person for me otherwise i would have stayed with you?"
February: he told me exactly what i needed to hear: "you think that i think you aren't enough?"
March: am i happy with everything the way it is?
April: i watch my life deteriorate in different ways and i write less.
May: i find myself at the end of this first year experience feeling sick, and sort of lonely, and i'm ready to go home.
June: my parents are going to get back together, i can't process this.
July: what am i these days.. feeling wholly uncreative and uninspired.
August: i don't fall asleep at night, i think and worry about the scary things, the real things.
September: "I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone."
October “-“
November: “To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.” -Pema Chodron
December: I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
31 December 2010 @ 01:10 am
"Maybe I'm a little bit over my head/I come undone at the things he said"
07 December 2010 @ 01:56 am
Don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures
06 December 2010 @ 02:26 am
your hands are tough but they are where mine belong
02 December 2010 @ 03:50 pm
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
29 November 2010 @ 10:30 pm
"My revolution thoughts, your little arrows of desire, I want to trace them to the source and the wire but it’s not useful now since we’ve both made up our minds, you’re going to watch out for yourself and so will I."
16 November 2010 @ 12:58 am
“To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.” -Pema Chodron
31 October 2010 @ 02:58 pm