Don't say I didn't warn you.
I don’t remember the town. It was the town where we would take pictures of beautiful girls on the weekdays (well, really only I would take the pictures, you liked to paint them). And then on the weekends we would kiss strangers. I saw you at the end of the last week I was there, and then I never saw you again.
“Shit, I was kidding!” “Shit,” you said sinking to the ground with your face buried in your hands. Your strands of hair fell with you, slowly like feathers falling through air. Your hair was always a little long for a boy’s. In that light, it wasn’t hair at all. Strings of white light started at your head and ended just below your jawline. It was not the moon...
Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images....– I am not a son, nor did a man give me birth, but it is true. I cannot say or guess. I know only these fragments of pictures. I try to make the best of them.
I see people all the time.
Last night at the Dairy Queen, there was a boy leaning over the table, a little out of his chair. He was nursing his girl’s bleeding fingers, trying to suck the pain away and into his own mouth. His eyes flashed for a second when he looked up over his lover’s head at me. All possessive and wild his eyes were, and I couldn’t really look away, and I couldn’t really tell him...
My Formal Education
Before I am able to make any marks in my agenda, it marks the end of my summer. My return to academia is an agenda that I will never use, a golden schedule that will fade to pale yellow, and a notebook that will contain more ridiculous rambling in the margins than anything else. Thrash as I may, I am only the flailing limbs of a drowning swimmer in an ocean too large for him to control. So, I do...
The rich mahogany of the divan did not pale even in the sunlight from the window. It remained a stubborn colour of matte warmness so deep and thick that it threatened to swallow any who dared to lie on it that afternoon. Yet, as the visiting landlord (sitting on an out of place white patio chair by the window) would notice, the young girl asleep on the piece of furniture in front of him seemed...
Teaching you my name.
My name is not Layla Or Sarah Or Beth It is not Mary Nor Casey Or Jude But you will always call me Ashlin Maybe Elise And sometimes Lucy I try to teach you my name You always forget So start to learn what my name is not.
My stomach hurts today, so I’m going to eat my magic medicine.
His living room had grown stuffy from being locked up in July and locked up longer in August. I sat on the couch that was against the wall feeling exactly the same as I had near the end of June when I had visited to tell him common courteous things such as ‘have a safe trip’ and ‘I’ll miss you’. The couch was still stuffed a little more than full and covered in its...
We tend to treat the closing days of our vacation as the closing days of our youth. I think, ‘Oh, I am all sorted out, all untangled,’ only to find some ghastly knot that did not show itself in the summer sunlight. As always, I brush it out in a rush and leave many frayed edges, and perhaps this is the only visible telling sign that I have not really grown up at all. But those with...