Monthly Archives: October 2011
22 of 31. Halloween Haiku
East River run to monkey bars, pavement, strange men Happy Halloween Advertisements
21 of 31. After Church Living Room Talk
We’re talking about serious things right now. Cue Budweiser can cracked open I am with you heart and soul. Cue tea tipped to lips, short sips. It’s really exciting, it’s exactly what we need. Cue refrigerator door open. I might … Continue reading
20 of 31. If I wrote my own acceptance letters.
Dear Amy, Congratulations! You were accepted. Your application was wildly inventive, and we think you will shine here among the old books, lectures, and late night discussions about post-modern English literature, American poetry, and existentialism. We know you don’t have … Continue reading
19 of 31. End October
Wind pushes in past the airconditioner’s accordion. Low howling can be heard across the street. On the couch near the only lamp lit, their are whispers of Revelations. The flowers will die, the bamboo brown from being inside. What crawls … Continue reading
18 of 31. October 29, 2011
I read Rimbaud on the M14D until the bus driver turned my stomach. The little boy behind me, with a mop of blonde hair told me he liked my hat, and asked his dad for a 68 Camaro for his … Continue reading
17 of 31. Home
Caitie is watching American President. Sarah is pouring Nyquil into a little plastic cup for me, Adrian is sprawled across her bed feet showing in the doorframe. Miriam is on a plane in our prayers toward the west coast, Laura … Continue reading
16 of 31.
I keep getting emails from graduate programs telling me that I should check out their psychoanalysis and culture program or their anthropology program and I’m wondering if they are psychoanalyzing me and if that is why they think I would … Continue reading
15 of 31. October 29
It is raining on Avenue C. The walk to Fine Fare is slick and grey, the birds are still out, though it’s almost November. “It’s not too cold,” Laura says, while they chirp under dripping shopping carts, “but it’s almost … Continue reading
14 of 31. When I am Sick
My mother makes tea. Her hands have always been right. Her bed smells of home.
13 of 31.
Birth to one. Mom carried me in a laundry basket filled with blankets so I could always be where the people were. One to two. I learned to walk in a Staten Island apartment with two big brothers holding my … Continue reading