in peace

I wonder if your ghost lives inside me
your cradle and coffin
dead before you met the air
eyes forever
closed

in my dreams your fists open into palms
and press against me
dull feeling
I tell you secrets I don't remember upon waking

you are never angry
only sad to never hold me

sometimes you are a boy
an edward elliott charles or henry
and sometimes you are alice jane or octavia (tavie)

always you have 1o toes 10 fingers
chameleon eyes (like me)
red hair
a tiny nose
and a perfect mouth

hot child

sometimes everything here is electric
you can live on your excitement
your body turns butterflies to satisfactions
and martinis to three course meals
you become more beautiful
and loved and wanted
than you've ever been
and this makes you super human
you no longer require sleep
and need only a little money
because even drinks and drugs
start growing on trees

but sometimes everything is just okay
and you just scrape by
you are average
and mostly poor
only pretty in a certain light
not happy or unhappy
you eat tuna fish sandwiches
and your phone doesn't ring.

Summer lonesome

summer lonesome lives in the sweat behind my knees
in the constant shifting in bed at night
bug bites that leave leopard bruises
the dregs of warm beer
ketchup stains on your favorite shirt
a constant lack of stars
second place
sometimes third
our cat that wont let me touch him
the husk of a dead housefly hanging impossibly from one limb in my closet for days
the broken toilet seat
the six books I've started
too much make-up
and never enough money

unfair
not to smell pacific sea salt and woodsmoke
indefinitely
to feel more lonely sleeping beside someone than alone.

Lake memory

One morning we walked to the dock for a joy-ride in one of the weak-engined boats and found that a bat had died there in the night
a baby
it looked soft and sad and we didn't know what to do
my mother came down and said slowly in almost a whisper,
"Oh, yes. It's a bat"
as though it could have been anything
we scooped it up gingerly with a shovel
and from the roof of the boathouse, pitched the tiny lump into the overgrown shoreline
which didn't seem tender enough.

May 8th

I slept with a man from Iceland
who had holes in his sheets
he said I pronounced Reykjavik "quite well"
he told me I was good at sex and was surprised by my tattoo
unusual
we lay tangled and staring at the ceiling until three in the afternoon
and when I left I saw photos of his girlfriend scattered about
Is she a model? I asked.
and he said sadly, yes.

June 14th

I've never heard thunder so loud as this
as though the whole sky
was breaking into pieces
the size of city blocks
ready to fall and crash on buildings and cars
punishment for our sins
for our too short shorts
and poor posture
addictions
anger
and lust
this thunder makes me nervous

gearhart

We walked to the shore
Running hands over wet rope
Ash melting neatly
Into clothes

We kissed
With surf in our ears
Grinding sand
Between teeth

And in the cabin
Filled with sandpipers
Stitched onto pillows
Water-colored on walls
Tiny statues on the windowsill
We slept under the table
Among dirty wineglasses
The smell of salt
And smoke
Among paper and pencils
In the lacy shadows of the fire

beach path

I tripped on the root of a tree along the path and smelled that warm familiar smell of dirt as my chin cut into the dirt. A smell like the stuff that gets caught on the hem of one’s overalls. A little bit like sweat, I remember, but sweeter. And in my ears echoing hard consonants and vowels, and softer ones too, “Liebestraum” whistled or hummed (culled from a musical past I wasn’t a part of) at the sink surrounded by yellow dishes.
Further along the path I found a rotting bird with worms and flies in and out the eye sockets, and the back of my arms tickled at the touch of hawk feathers traced lightly at my back, half asleep and buried in pillows. Bathed in buttery light.
I picked up a white stone, a grey stone, and a black stone and shoved them deep into my pocket. I ran my fingers along them in a row, three bony knuckles, smooth but colder.
At the end the path broadened into beach, spotted with pairs and buckets and towels, a few umbrellas. A car drove by with a looped yellow sticker, “Support the Troops” stuck to the windshield. And if it had been the year before I would have made a snarky remark, but I was alone this time.
I walked down to the surf with sandals in my hand and noticed that my knee was bleeding a little from my fall. The water was cold against my shins, and I wrapped my arms around me tight, my fingers raking at flesh trying to get all the way around. But it didn’t feel the same.

Modesto

I dine on beer and cottagecheese
With the TV on and books and papers
In piles on the floor
And its just like being back in California

But if I step outside
The air will not be warm and sweet
And will not blow through the orchard or the apricot tree
There will not be stars or grass
I cannot walk to the barn
Or sit on the porch with Liza
There is no backyard
To play music in
No rabbits asleep in hutches
Or ducks on the pond
I don’t have a garden
And I’m not in love.

Found, Also

I found a shell from La Serena
Intact
In the bottom of a purse
At the bottom of my closet

I thought about the day we all went swimming
I wore just a t-shirt
That clung tight/too vulgar
For your Christian sensibilities
I caught a hermit crab
That tickled over my palm to yours
We had a feast
Of beer and empanadas and steak and fries
We took pictures
Of holding the moon in our palms
Laughing

It must be easier for you
Who didn’t save so much
No small things to appear
Bidden or unbidden
In purses
Pockets
Or in the bottom
Of a box
Of orphaned earrings

Underneath

There are tide pools
On the coast of Oregon
At ebb tide
On rare days
Sometimes waist-deep

Once when I was small
My parents walked me to the shore
Along the edge
Of a dozen ruffling pools
I stood at one alone
And inexplicably jumped
Or fell
And impossibly
Looked up from beneath
Water in my yellow raincoat
Holding me under
Until their shadows
Hovered over
And hauled me out
Denims wet to the knees
Angry and scared but I wasn’t

Then silent at home
They put me in a warm shower
Salt and sand
Circled
Down the drain