Two Months Later!!!

Well oops. I've become a home-loving, embroidery learning, novel reading hermit. And I've neglected everything but writing poetry and reading old novels. Recently, I find myself staring blankly at people whenever they try to conduct a conversation with me. As though I can't figure out why they would do such a thing. Or what is an appropriate thing to say in response. Or really, what the hell they're talking about and why I'm not at home enjoying a good book and a cup of tea. I'm turning into that girl that was raised by wolves and has no idea how to conduct herself with people. Only I don't eat raw meat. Or pee on the shrubs. And as much as I would have like to have been, wasn't raised by wolves. So I have no good excuse. Except that I keep hoping this is maybe just a reflex of having been insanely over social in Tokyo for the last two years, so now my mind and my body are like... stay home! learn how to embroider! Write poems in a Texan accent with random Japanese onomatopoeia! Yes, thank you, brain. What a great idea. Then I can alienate everyone and increase my caffeine addiction. Oh well, this is a happy time. The Edinburgh weather is a weeee bit dreary, but spring planting is only a month away! Turnips and carrots and squash, oh my! And shiso and chamomile and lavender! At least the snow drifts are gone, and hiking and bicycling are now possible again! And walking without slipping and brushing death every two steps. Excuse me death, it's just these damn feet, they don't seem to want to take orders! Sorry if I keep grabbing your robe to steady myself, it's nothing personal, really.
In other news, I have been notified that I have won a Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg prize. Well hot damn. I had forgotten I even entered stuff. I will find out on Friday what this officially means. Until then, I hold my breath and try to keep from doing a little happy dance. So that when Friday comes, I'll have all this suppressed energy that will explode into a BIG happy dance, possibly accompanied by song! And the hugging of random people on the street.
Oh and did I mention that Borges is doing that thing again, where he pops up in really random places? He's been showing himself in all manner of bizarre places over the past few days, and to finish the night, I discover I'm NOT THE ONLY ONE with this weird problem.

Improvements, Changes, a Few Poems, the Mamas and the Papas

Well, I'm pulling this poor neglected journal out of the cupboard, dusting it off, and imbuing it with new soul and sense of purpose. It is now a creative space. Please, leave comments, share creativeness or quotes or stories in response to these posts (or just randomly). Here is some work that I haven't had much chance to share, because it came about in that weird interim between my portfolio and the work I've done while in this magical Scottish city. I'm leaving out some of my pieces from Japan, because they're too springy and will have to wait for a more appropriate season (such as spring).



Ca ra mel corn coffee

I unfold my legs,
                                                 out
and let the sun toast me,
honey in my coffee
liquid, golden, the sun so
warmly
               stops to say hello.

(Chicago, May '09)

And one for the season we are passing into...

The Shore of December Night

I might think of how barely
I know you-
word after word stumbles
forth from you
as if nothing could
stave off what is to come.

The bed creaks a little
as I shift my weight,
next to you, knees
propping up my chin,
I rock in the slight
swells of blankets and
building sobs, riding them out.

Your eyes never leave the floor-
you are transfixed,
pinned and struggling by the invisible,
helpless in its arms.
I can hear when you are near
the breaking-
the tightness of your voice
stretched almost to snapping,
I wait for the lurch of the mattress
and the cracking and the flash and
salt water torrents
to sweep us into unknown and
turbulent waters.

But when it crumbles
I am dragged down by the
pull and weight of the undertow—
I am afraid of you;
raw and cold
but I have no control,
I am touching your
face; hot, shaking,
jittering, explosive
I am looking for your tender places.

I see my own face,
wide and white and blank,
reflected against
the blackness in your eyes—
my eyes huge and drinking
up all the dark with the light.
I gather you,
piece by piece,
one coiling seizing
sinew after another,
I gather you,
rattling knees,
fevered skin,
I gather you;
ferocious,
but still I pull you in—
the marrow cage of
a thousand nightmares I
cannot cradle.

Breath in, out,
rasp of steady surf over the
sloped sand;
breathe in the sea,
out the sea.
I breathe while you weep,
a small boy in the
arms of a stranger.

There is so much violence
in you—
part of me recoils,
my stomach clenches and
wants to reject,
but my arms are steely and
will not uncurl and I
can feel your wild heart
and my steady throbbing one
warring with each other,
and I don’t want to let go—
so we ride it out,

and I wish I didn’t love
impossible things so,
and I wish you
weren’t afraid of me,
and eventually the tears
slow and the
seconds between the flash
and the rumbling groan
grow,

and the stillness settles upon us—
you take a deep, wet, swallowing breath
and get up to light
another cigarette,
while I lay
stranded on the shore,
emptied and gently
rocking myself.

(Tokyo, December '08)