ms. carene brown, may angels lead you in. tomorrow i will run and run so i can forget that i wasn't there when i should have been, didn't call as much as i should have, wasn't a good friend when you had been an amazing mentor.
i will run from the seductive smile of james franco in cocoa reality, his solid shoulders smoldering in the glittering sunrise on John street.
step step step step and you dwell for a little while on why they can't see that you have been responsible since the womb
that you willed yourself to be fine minus the lack of proper prenatal care
that you were delivered into this world with a block on your shoulder
and a full vocabulary
with melancholy and woe
and that sometimes you just
have to throw it all off
shake and shimmy it off
sprint away
and go.
breathe. exhale. swing your arms. exhale.
you resolve not to let it bother you
not to let them get to you
penetrate the core of your soul
the nymph who needs to keep moving
to blend the pastels of existence with magazine cutout
collage pictures in order to make comprehensible
everything you see.
step
step
step
step
breathe
exhale
step
step
step
step
i will run and run
and when i am done
i will stretch until i am numb.
22.11.09
she smiles sweetly
when i get home
sometimes
i stick my finger down my throat.
bulimia was a choice,
not a destiny
even though senior year
we all told meredith she was worth so much more
it was the lesson of the day back then.
you have to love yourself
if you are going to make it.
loving ourselves meant
you squared your shoulders and
walked with purpose, heels striking
the ground with force
a quick step, long pace.
loving ourselves meant striding along
in almost a light jog with a ferocity
you wore in your eyes and the
tension of your lips
that said to anyone who might
consider screwing with you
mothafucka i'll beat you
with the pointy heel of my
patent-leather stiletto if
you even so much as look at me for too long.
he fell in love with that sexy stepping
the way the wind raged through her hair
and they kissed soft sweet and secret
sweaty, in the ephemeral heat of september
until it didn't make sense
to continue doing so.
once home from dinner
she stuck her finger down her throat
because she'd eaten too much
and she couldn't have his waist smaller than hers
if theirs was to be a successful relationship.
the chaos pulsed in her oceanic eyes
waves of recognition were missing from his
that's fine, she told herself
he was a backup anyway. a side dish
keep it moving.
squared her shoulders,
head up, wind siphoning aggression
from her muscles
through her hair.
sometimes
i stick my finger down my throat.
bulimia was a choice,
not a destiny
even though senior year
we all told meredith she was worth so much more
it was the lesson of the day back then.
you have to love yourself
if you are going to make it.
loving ourselves meant
you squared your shoulders and
walked with purpose, heels striking
the ground with force
a quick step, long pace.
loving ourselves meant striding along
in almost a light jog with a ferocity
you wore in your eyes and the
tension of your lips
that said to anyone who might
consider screwing with you
mothafucka i'll beat you
with the pointy heel of my
patent-leather stiletto if
you even so much as look at me for too long.
he fell in love with that sexy stepping
the way the wind raged through her hair
and they kissed soft sweet and secret
sweaty, in the ephemeral heat of september
until it didn't make sense
to continue doing so.
once home from dinner
she stuck her finger down her throat
because she'd eaten too much
and she couldn't have his waist smaller than hers
if theirs was to be a successful relationship.
the chaos pulsed in her oceanic eyes
waves of recognition were missing from his
that's fine, she told herself
he was a backup anyway. a side dish
keep it moving.
squared her shoulders,
head up, wind siphoning aggression
from her muscles
through her hair.
3.10.09
tidbits and ramblings
we're in a posh hotel room, somewhere a million stories above the city. the room is decorated in neutrals with gold accents and some salmon pink splashed here and there. tasteful, compared to how it sounds. there is a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne on the table in the dining area outside of the bedroom in the suite. two glasses sat empty, waiting to be filled and emptied, and filled again. journey plays and we discuss the ramones. he tells me about the punk concerts he used to see at cbgb, wearing a leather bomber jacket with studs and sporting voluminous hair. we smoke up in the middle of the "living area", right on the floor, while the stereo pulses and throbs next to us. "layla" comes on- the derek and the dominoes version- and i seem to be backed against the couch. our mouths are connected and i feel the stubble on his chin even though he shaved this morning. his breath is sweet with a tinge of whiskey and maybe some fruit, probably the apple tart, and before i know it i'm in his lap and there...oh, there's no going back now.
('cos it already is)
the 15 freeway moves at a peacefully frantic clip and the sun sets ahead of us in brilliant orangeyellows. he's wearing the trunks he swam in and a green billabong t-shirt that i would later bury in the bottom of a box of clothes that i donated to the salvation army.
he handles his car in the kind of way that makes you want to climb over the gearshift and into his lap and just fuck his brains out right there on the 74. there wasn't much to omar, all skin and ultra-lean muscle, but he had a presence that was like the ocean: calm until it wasn't; blue until it turned slate gray. i remember not wanting to continue, to make him stop, but all the same being completely excited that we'd finally gotten around to it.
it's september 5th, 2005 and sticky everywhere in brooklyn. i'm careening down atlantic ave. as a passenger in a navigator that's seen better days. our windows are rolled down and we follow the elevated tracks through the hood, back to my apartment. jack's radio is tuned to some station discussing the devastation of hurricane katrina, the extent of which i will only fully realize when i return to classes the next day and that's on the tip of everyone's tongue. he switches to the cd player. young jeezy and akon explode out of the speakers.
he handles his car in the kind of way that makes you want to climb over the gearshift and into his lap and just fuck his brains out right there on the 74. there wasn't much to omar, all skin and ultra-lean muscle, but he had a presence that was like the ocean: calm until it wasn't; blue until it turned slate gray. i remember not wanting to continue, to make him stop, but all the same being completely excited that we'd finally gotten around to it.
it's september 5th, 2005 and sticky everywhere in brooklyn. i'm careening down atlantic ave. as a passenger in a navigator that's seen better days. our windows are rolled down and we follow the elevated tracks through the hood, back to my apartment. jack's radio is tuned to some station discussing the devastation of hurricane katrina, the extent of which i will only fully realize when i return to classes the next day and that's on the tip of everyone's tongue. he switches to the cd player. young jeezy and akon explode out of the speakers.
12.7.09
25.3.09
the details
The last post-conference round of drinks was winding down. a group of jacketed executives sat around a table with an assortment of glasses in front of them: full of swirling whiskeys and bourbons interacting with melting ice. As the laughter and the barbs died down, most rose to leave the huddle, with the night hours winding down and the restaurant growing ever-quieter. It was hours ago the maitre'd had approached the table to tell everyone the kitchen was closing, and would they require anything else for the evening? They dismissed him jovially with an extra few dollars for his troubles and his patience.
One of the more boisterous men, a trim gentleman with more salt in his hair than pepper, stood up to excuse himself from the table. John unwound his coal gray suit jacket from the back of the mahogany chair. He said his last good nights and departed through the doorway of the restaurant in time to see a woman enter from the muggy silence beyond the hotel's gold-plated revolving doors. She crossed in front of the man to enter the bar across from the restaurant and he yielded to let her pass. Her eyes met his, her mouth was a slight smile as a silken "excuse me" floated between them.
The gentleman watched the back of Madeleine's silver evening gown glimmer beneath the dim lights of the bar. The draping at the bottom of her back stopped just above the gentle curve and accentuated the shapeliness of her waist. She slid onto a stool and ordered with the bartender. The gentleman turned and walked toward the elevator bank. His reflection caught him in the gold doors of the elevators. Hands in pockets, he turned toward the woman at the bar. He studied her back, the firm and tender muscles, and wondered if she remembered him. In his pocket, he worked his wedding ring off of his finger.
May I sit?
Of course. She smiled. How have you been?
He draped his jacket across the back of the bar stool, perched on the edge. One leg steadied him as the other bent to rest.
You know, not too bad, considering.
Yes, considering. I heard. What happened?
He shrugged. Shook his head slightly. You know, I'll tell you when I knew. She looked at me one day about three months ago, and said there's no going back from here. And I got it. I knew what she was saying. And she was right.
He looked away.
I was sorry to hear it. I am sorry.
He shrugged again. Thanks. Looked at her, a smile playing on his face. Didn't you, ah... have something?
She laughed. Did I ever. Yes, I had "something."
How'd that go?
It went really well until one day he left to get cigarettes and never came back.
She smiled simply, sadly, and shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to say "these things happen." I've come to accept it. I have four kids to take care of. I have to accept it. Her laugh was filled with irony as she raised her glass to sip.
Four kids?
She nodded. Antonio, Alejandro, Isabela, and Sofia.
John was incredulous. Nothing about her body or carriage suggested she had four children. You gave- I mean- they're all yours, biologically?
Eyebrows raised, Madeleine's eyes laughed. Every single one. They give me a run for my money, that's for sure. The boys, especially. They're at that really mouthy age. Every once in awhile I'll wake up and announce we're going to grandma's. We make the drive, and when we're about ten minutes away I call my mom and tell her the kids have been dying to see her. Meanwhile they'll have been whining the entire time, being sarcastic, fighting with each other. I have to threaten them with Antarctica a few times. When we get to my mom's I leave the car running, get them all out and into her house and take off.
He laughed. That sounded like the Madeleine he knew.
I rarely do that, though. I use grandma only for very special occasions.
Like the one tonight, I see. He gestured to her dress.
We had a gala to raise money for battered women's shelters. I helped organize it and the firm was a major contributor.
He didn't-?
No. She was firm. No. Never. But there are women out there who aren't so lucky.
He nodded in agreement, sipped his drink. Well, you look... won- very- nice. You look very nice.
She played coy; it had been a long time since she'd had cause to.
Thank you.
John and Madeleine sipped their drinks together in silence for a few minutes, until she thought to rise and his hand sought the small of her back.
I'll be right back. She left her clutch on the bar.
For a moment John wondered what he was doing. He told himself he was having a drink with an old colleague, that this is what his wife would want. He told himself they were both adults, that she had four children and their lives were closer than they had once been. You only live once, old man.
She returned and slid onto her bar stool. John noticed her the silver sparkle on her toes. She took a sip from her glass.
Are you at a conference?
He nodded, swallowing his own drink. Technologies in publishing.
Scintillating.
He chuckled. Not exactly a forum on the chemistry of wine-making, but it'll do.
Their conversation stretched through the hours, with the occasional knee-pat or arm graze. Twice his hand moved to her bare back. The muscles ached to be touched, he could see it, could sense it.
When last call had finally come to mean "please leave," John thumbed through a stack of bills and left a few on the bar. He offered his arm to Madeleine. Are you a guest here?
I am. She smiled coyly.
Would you like to have a nightcap with me?
I would.
Her heels made a soft clicking on the marble floors as they made their way to the elevators.
His shoulders were broader than they'd appeared under his jacket, and he was still in good shape for his age. He loosened his tie, removed his shoes. What are you drinking?
7 and 7?
Good choice. It's my specialty.
John mixed their drinks and bent to give Madeleine hers. As she took it, she turned her face up and kissed his cheek.
One of the more boisterous men, a trim gentleman with more salt in his hair than pepper, stood up to excuse himself from the table. John unwound his coal gray suit jacket from the back of the mahogany chair. He said his last good nights and departed through the doorway of the restaurant in time to see a woman enter from the muggy silence beyond the hotel's gold-plated revolving doors. She crossed in front of the man to enter the bar across from the restaurant and he yielded to let her pass. Her eyes met his, her mouth was a slight smile as a silken "excuse me" floated between them.
The gentleman watched the back of Madeleine's silver evening gown glimmer beneath the dim lights of the bar. The draping at the bottom of her back stopped just above the gentle curve and accentuated the shapeliness of her waist. She slid onto a stool and ordered with the bartender. The gentleman turned and walked toward the elevator bank. His reflection caught him in the gold doors of the elevators. Hands in pockets, he turned toward the woman at the bar. He studied her back, the firm and tender muscles, and wondered if she remembered him. In his pocket, he worked his wedding ring off of his finger.
May I sit?
Of course. She smiled. How have you been?
He draped his jacket across the back of the bar stool, perched on the edge. One leg steadied him as the other bent to rest.
You know, not too bad, considering.
Yes, considering. I heard. What happened?
He shrugged. Shook his head slightly. You know, I'll tell you when I knew. She looked at me one day about three months ago, and said there's no going back from here. And I got it. I knew what she was saying. And she was right.
He looked away.
I was sorry to hear it. I am sorry.
He shrugged again. Thanks. Looked at her, a smile playing on his face. Didn't you, ah... have something?
She laughed. Did I ever. Yes, I had "something."
How'd that go?
It went really well until one day he left to get cigarettes and never came back.
She smiled simply, sadly, and shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to say "these things happen." I've come to accept it. I have four kids to take care of. I have to accept it. Her laugh was filled with irony as she raised her glass to sip.
Four kids?
She nodded. Antonio, Alejandro, Isabela, and Sofia.
John was incredulous. Nothing about her body or carriage suggested she had four children. You gave- I mean- they're all yours, biologically?
Eyebrows raised, Madeleine's eyes laughed. Every single one. They give me a run for my money, that's for sure. The boys, especially. They're at that really mouthy age. Every once in awhile I'll wake up and announce we're going to grandma's. We make the drive, and when we're about ten minutes away I call my mom and tell her the kids have been dying to see her. Meanwhile they'll have been whining the entire time, being sarcastic, fighting with each other. I have to threaten them with Antarctica a few times. When we get to my mom's I leave the car running, get them all out and into her house and take off.
He laughed. That sounded like the Madeleine he knew.
I rarely do that, though. I use grandma only for very special occasions.
Like the one tonight, I see. He gestured to her dress.
We had a gala to raise money for battered women's shelters. I helped organize it and the firm was a major contributor.
He didn't-?
No. She was firm. No. Never. But there are women out there who aren't so lucky.
He nodded in agreement, sipped his drink. Well, you look... won- very- nice. You look very nice.
She played coy; it had been a long time since she'd had cause to.
Thank you.
John and Madeleine sipped their drinks together in silence for a few minutes, until she thought to rise and his hand sought the small of her back.
I'll be right back. She left her clutch on the bar.
For a moment John wondered what he was doing. He told himself he was having a drink with an old colleague, that this is what his wife would want. He told himself they were both adults, that she had four children and their lives were closer than they had once been. You only live once, old man.
She returned and slid onto her bar stool. John noticed her the silver sparkle on her toes. She took a sip from her glass.
Are you at a conference?
He nodded, swallowing his own drink. Technologies in publishing.
Scintillating.
He chuckled. Not exactly a forum on the chemistry of wine-making, but it'll do.
Their conversation stretched through the hours, with the occasional knee-pat or arm graze. Twice his hand moved to her bare back. The muscles ached to be touched, he could see it, could sense it.
When last call had finally come to mean "please leave," John thumbed through a stack of bills and left a few on the bar. He offered his arm to Madeleine. Are you a guest here?
I am. She smiled coyly.
Would you like to have a nightcap with me?
I would.
Her heels made a soft clicking on the marble floors as they made their way to the elevators.
His shoulders were broader than they'd appeared under his jacket, and he was still in good shape for his age. He loosened his tie, removed his shoes. What are you drinking?
7 and 7?
Good choice. It's my specialty.
John mixed their drinks and bent to give Madeleine hers. As she took it, she turned her face up and kissed his cheek.
18.3.09
a daydream
white bikini, beige sand. blinding sun.
tanned feet, purple toenails.
bleached hair dancing on shoulders, tangled into waves by salt water.
multicolored towel as barrier from the heat-containing beige sand.
cute guy, best friend, on the towel adjacent.
killer abs, bright smile.
she still wouldn't fuck him, he's too close.
he gets up to get a beer, "you want one?"
"sure. thanks."
this is how they know themselves: in relation to the ocean, in relation to the sun. the sand is a nuisance, but tolerable.
his phone rings. "yeah. sup dude.... oh...oh. you're here?... where are you?... you're walkin up? okay. we're in...we're by...yeah, number five.
she looks toward the boardwalk, the parking lots, and sees a figure she thinks she recognizes. her heart beats a little faster and it's then that she says out loud "i think i'm gonna go in the water."
she walks out to the water, board tethered to her ankle, and wades in away from tension that figure was bringing.
...
the two men look out to where she is in the water. her hair shines through its heavy wetness, her muscles line up in lovely symmetry to the earth. a wave overtakes her and they see feet. she bobs up, throws her hair back, and swims back out.
"i haven't seen her in a minute."
"how long's it been?"
"ahh. long time. ... she doesn't know i'm here, does she?" he said it with the weight of disappointment and looked at his hands.
"nah. i told her brian and danny were coming." he waited. "i mean, she doesn't really like them, so she should be a little happier, right?" He laughed, nervously.
"yeah, you know her, though. woman can hold a grudge."
"fuck yeah she can. how you been man? how's the baby?"
"my man. he's good. growin every day n' shit. said daddy the other day man, i thought my ears were gonna melt, you know? like, you live for that stuff." he looked out to the water again. she stood on the board and held the wave at bay. for a few seconds the two managed a peaceful coexistence while the stormy saltwater ceded control of the universe to her. he thought back to the last time they'd seen each other...
"how's jess?"
he came back to his patch of sand. the beer he held, water dripping down the sides of the bottle. "she's good. we don't talk much, beyond lil' guy."
"ya'll okay though?"
"yeah. i mean, as good as we can be when we both work two jobs and barely get enough time with our kid, you know?"
"damn man. that's rough. i'm not ready for that yet. two jobs? i can barely handle having one. all that dress code, be on time, answering to people shit, man. i don't know how you do it at two places."
"gotta, man. gotta. gotta feed my kid. gotta pay the rent. gotta keep gas in the car. gotta keep the woman happy." he laughed that secret man-laugh of misery.
...
submerged for the millionth time, she decided it was probably not best to be in the water when her mind was on other things.
"sweet mother of god." she adjusted her bottoms under the water, threw her hair back, and gave her body to buoyancy. the sun was too bright to encourage thought. she paddled her arms in a lackadaisical kind of way, hoping she'd get to shore eventually. why did james tell me the phone call was from brian? is brian even coming? he and danny would be a distraction, even though i don't much like either of them. but of all people on this earth, the last person i wanted to see was mike. God! i could kill james. her butt grazed the sand; she was near shore. she stood up and walked out of the water toward james and mike. still no brian or danny. damn. james' cut body, dark brown skin vaguely turned her on, but not in any significant way. the lust stopped at his navel. the dark chicano next to him was another story entirely, though. the story of her and mike was an epic, a greek tragedy originated in a small town.
once on solid sand she ripped the velcro cuff from her ankle and tucked the board under her arm. bits of water clung to her skin, he hair dripped a steady stream down her back. she could feel her white bikini top was too loose, but figured she could make it back and ask james to retie it.
mike watched her walk back toward them. she glittered. he missed her glisten, the scent of her skin in the morning. her smell of sweat and suntan lotion. he missed rubbing aloe into the crisp skin on her back when she spent too much time in the sun. his complexion was dark enough to avoid sunburn, for the most part- she wasn't so lucky.
damn, she looks good. james couldn't remember if he'd ever seen her so close to naked before. i wouldn't mind a piece of that. but not really. but look at that ass though. damn.
she was back to camp. digging water out of the cooler she and james had brought.
"hey, look who came by." james wasn't good at subtle.
she tried to put a good face on things, take her voice to an octave that suggested happiness and surprise. "i know. look who it is." she took a swig from the bottle and opened the cooler. "do we have any more sandwiches? i'm starving."
tanned feet, purple toenails.
bleached hair dancing on shoulders, tangled into waves by salt water.
multicolored towel as barrier from the heat-containing beige sand.
cute guy, best friend, on the towel adjacent.
killer abs, bright smile.
she still wouldn't fuck him, he's too close.
he gets up to get a beer, "you want one?"
"sure. thanks."
this is how they know themselves: in relation to the ocean, in relation to the sun. the sand is a nuisance, but tolerable.
his phone rings. "yeah. sup dude.... oh...oh. you're here?... where are you?... you're walkin up? okay. we're in...we're by...yeah, number five.
she looks toward the boardwalk, the parking lots, and sees a figure she thinks she recognizes. her heart beats a little faster and it's then that she says out loud "i think i'm gonna go in the water."
she walks out to the water, board tethered to her ankle, and wades in away from tension that figure was bringing.
...
the two men look out to where she is in the water. her hair shines through its heavy wetness, her muscles line up in lovely symmetry to the earth. a wave overtakes her and they see feet. she bobs up, throws her hair back, and swims back out.
"i haven't seen her in a minute."
"how long's it been?"
"ahh. long time. ... she doesn't know i'm here, does she?" he said it with the weight of disappointment and looked at his hands.
"nah. i told her brian and danny were coming." he waited. "i mean, she doesn't really like them, so she should be a little happier, right?" He laughed, nervously.
"yeah, you know her, though. woman can hold a grudge."
"fuck yeah she can. how you been man? how's the baby?"
"my man. he's good. growin every day n' shit. said daddy the other day man, i thought my ears were gonna melt, you know? like, you live for that stuff." he looked out to the water again. she stood on the board and held the wave at bay. for a few seconds the two managed a peaceful coexistence while the stormy saltwater ceded control of the universe to her. he thought back to the last time they'd seen each other...
"how's jess?"
he came back to his patch of sand. the beer he held, water dripping down the sides of the bottle. "she's good. we don't talk much, beyond lil' guy."
"ya'll okay though?"
"yeah. i mean, as good as we can be when we both work two jobs and barely get enough time with our kid, you know?"
"damn man. that's rough. i'm not ready for that yet. two jobs? i can barely handle having one. all that dress code, be on time, answering to people shit, man. i don't know how you do it at two places."
"gotta, man. gotta. gotta feed my kid. gotta pay the rent. gotta keep gas in the car. gotta keep the woman happy." he laughed that secret man-laugh of misery.
...
submerged for the millionth time, she decided it was probably not best to be in the water when her mind was on other things.
"sweet mother of god." she adjusted her bottoms under the water, threw her hair back, and gave her body to buoyancy. the sun was too bright to encourage thought. she paddled her arms in a lackadaisical kind of way, hoping she'd get to shore eventually. why did james tell me the phone call was from brian? is brian even coming? he and danny would be a distraction, even though i don't much like either of them. but of all people on this earth, the last person i wanted to see was mike. God! i could kill james. her butt grazed the sand; she was near shore. she stood up and walked out of the water toward james and mike. still no brian or danny. damn. james' cut body, dark brown skin vaguely turned her on, but not in any significant way. the lust stopped at his navel. the dark chicano next to him was another story entirely, though. the story of her and mike was an epic, a greek tragedy originated in a small town.
once on solid sand she ripped the velcro cuff from her ankle and tucked the board under her arm. bits of water clung to her skin, he hair dripped a steady stream down her back. she could feel her white bikini top was too loose, but figured she could make it back and ask james to retie it.
mike watched her walk back toward them. she glittered. he missed her glisten, the scent of her skin in the morning. her smell of sweat and suntan lotion. he missed rubbing aloe into the crisp skin on her back when she spent too much time in the sun. his complexion was dark enough to avoid sunburn, for the most part- she wasn't so lucky.
damn, she looks good. james couldn't remember if he'd ever seen her so close to naked before. i wouldn't mind a piece of that. but not really. but look at that ass though. damn.
she was back to camp. digging water out of the cooler she and james had brought.
"hey, look who came by." james wasn't good at subtle.
she tried to put a good face on things, take her voice to an octave that suggested happiness and surprise. "i know. look who it is." she took a swig from the bottle and opened the cooler. "do we have any more sandwiches? i'm starving."
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