Category: When the sun shines inside
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look at who you're talking to
Two women talk over each other under a concrete garage. Then stop. Take a drag. Then talk over each other again because this is normal conversation for them. They laugh, having two conversations all wrapped into the one. How can they hear what the other is saying? People understand in strange ways. Spot on. spot…
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a boy's fray
a boy walks a high concrete edge. One side the road, the other side a river. Bulging, the water’s been gorging underneath him. The boy in pajama pants, skater shoes, a black hoodie cloaking his head. The wind whips through his clothes the way it tears a flag – so much force eventually the edges…
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Not so scared
I’m taking my friend’s daughter camping this weekend. She’s been afraid of the bears and the foxes. Asking us if they will eat her. I tell her no. I tell her they are more afraid of her. “Why?” she asks. “Because they think your mom smells bad.” And she smiles a little bit. I tell her…
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The red tomato
I see a red tomato hanging like a Christmas bulb in my next-door neighbor’s yard. Every one else is green. She stands out strong like a woman in a red dress on a night out. She’s tall in her heels, tall on her vine looking down on every one. She’s juicy and she knows it.…
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I love more
What happens to us? the wonder? the fruit of our labor-ous (less) loves? the brown skin? seeping past the bruise itself but to more. muscle. bone – ivory no more but darkening. press a button. press it down. yellow seeps in too around the rim. a dying star of skin. am I a dying star?…
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She was white hot
Carlos says fuck the waves. We’re standing up today. We are already sponsored surfers with mad money and skills. We can carve waves like the curl of an ice cream scoop, our skin chocolate brown or more like toffee or more like vanilla with red sprinkles. In the middle of the night a thunderstorm arrived.…
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Sand seeds
I’ve become an urchin of the sea, a beach bum, a woman homeless on the sea and not homeless at all waving from the waves on a surfboard I’ve never tried before only got to my knees salt down my throat and calcified on my lips in white crystals. Sand in my scalp like dirt…
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Wooden Heart
I think the cello is a wooden heart with strings. Can’t it say things in sounds and tones we could never say with words? An extension of the body, I wish I could play. Deep and broken and wooded like thick oak trees. Moaning and sweet like willow leaves.