If we were shooting stars we would be airplanes. We would look like we were almost about to touch each other in the sky, but in reality, we’d be thousands of miles away, not even knowing the other exists. And if we were shooting stars we wouldn’t be stars at all. We’d be clouds. Drifting slowly past one another and gazing back to wistfully watch each other fade into rain. If we were shooting stars we would be marbles. Tumbling and rolling past each other over concrete. We would bump and slide and escape the hands of all who attempted to reach us. And if we were shooting stars we would be infinite. We would burn and fall and we would stay imprinted on the brains of all who watched us. We would never meet. We would know of the other but never of our destiny. Our fates. We would watch each other rip a seam in the sky, disrupt time and vision, and alter outer space and it would be perfect. And if we were shooting stars, you would be my wish.
-
Dairy Allergy
His name was Jack Johnson and he was a summer shade.
Well,
More like a summer breeze,
Really,
Cool like that.
He was a nice cool down in the summer
But not necessarily a nice guy.
Not a nice guy at all. I mean,
He wasn’t mean or angry or would punch you for looking at him twice
Or nothing like that but he might just
Tell you to stop laughing so loud
Or ask why you dress the way you do.
And I was in love with him, of course
Because I always fall in love with shadow men
Who keep parts of themselves hidden from me until the sun
Hits them just right
Because I’m really
Dumb
Like that. And he, Jack Johnson, was perfect for me.
He held my hand, not because he wanted to,
But because I wanted to
And he bought me dessert at American restaurants and
Always let me have the last bite.
And when we cuddled, his body curved around mine like a question mark
Though I was certainly no answer.
Jack Johnson had a mustache and a beard and legs like
Redwoods and eyes like lychee.
Clouded and bright and wet.
“If you were a food you’d be some fancy French dessert that I couldn’t pronounce”
He told me once.
And you’d be milk, I thought.
And how I love cream.
When we spoke on the phone he sighed a lot.
Breathing out everything he couldn’t say and inhaling everything I could.
I confided in Jack Johnson
And drank him up in any form that I could consume.
When the barista asked for his name he’d say
“Jake, Jack, Joe, whatever’s easiest for you to write.”
How strange.
I like to think it was his way of saying he was barely a man at all.
Only half man
And half the dark side of a concrete building.
When we were close,
Really close,
He could only ever look into my eyes.
The warmth between our bodies wasn’t a fire, it was a gas oven
Left on long after we’d left the house.
“Say my name,” he’d whisper.
Tell it to me, I’d think.
He slept without blankets, he hated movies, and he took prescription drugs.
Jack Johnson made fun of me when I bought knick knacks.
He would always ask me what I
Would do with them.
He didn’t get the point of things that weren’t useful.
I joked that I wished he loved cute little things the way that I do and he responded
“Well I love you.”
And I smiled and cried
And sipped on his half truth like hot tea with extra cream.
-
Green
A single cherry tree
A hummingbird colored chartreuse and gold
Flying so close to my head I think it will land on me
Bare feet
Bright green beneath me sprouting between my toes
The hem of my dress swinging around my knees
Grass stains covering the silk fabric
I know they’ll never come out.
Remnants of
Honey lemon iced tea made by
My boyfriend coat the back of my throat
The smell of his old cologne sticking to me in places
I cannot reach with my eyes and the ghost of his touch is present.
I smile.
-
French Baguette Waltz on 2
There’s no feeling like you et me
Perhaps la douceur of me in your paume
Twirling like a dancer, free
A piece of your music box charm
You spread me on your french baguette
I’m melted and sweet and predictable
I make you taste better; ma saveur est prête
Together, nous sommes formidable
Loneliness is very sour
You and I have known it well
Why don’t we, at the top of this hour
Drink all our shoelaces and eggshells?
I would like to know your soul
Je n’aimerais pas être seul.
-
Kitty Kravings
I landed on the door handle swiftly and I heard the weak lock detach from the frame. As I glided back down to the hardwood I pressed my nose to the small crack in the door and pushed it open, taking care not to make a sound. I could smell glory two rooms over.
I had to sneak through the dining room, a space filled with humans that I needed to make sure wouldn’t spot me. Servant Emma would put me back in that putrid room if she found out I escaped. I crept behind a low table and glanced over at Servant Emma sitting on my couch. She was a lovely servant, bright eyes, gave perfect head scratches, and always added a spoonful of tuna to my dish on Fridays. She was chatting with Putrid Bernard. He refused to scratch under my chin no matter how often I rubbed against him, and the one time he did try to touch me, he reached for my belly! I clawed him of course, but the memory still haunts me. He would make for a terrible second servant, I thought.
I continued my stealth mission. The smell of glory grew richer, coating my nostrils and fueling my morale. One of Servant Emma’s humans let out a putrid laugh and threw her body backwards, almost stepping on me as I neared the kitchen. I kept quiet, shrunk behind the table, and waited for her to move. Then I was home free. I made it inside and the delectable scent of glory filled me. I needed it. First I sat on the checkered tiles and exhaled, reminding myself that I was a fierce warrior and protector of apartment H37 as well as Servant Emma. I could do anything. I shifted my weight on my front paws before making a perfect leap to the countertop.
There it was. Glory. A full plate of cooked salmon smothered in a rich, dark fish sauce, lightly peppered. Servant Emma had let me try a bite once before when she had humans over and ever since I had been craving another mouthful. I neared the steaming fish and got one lick before I heard her.
“Wallace!” She called out to me. Servant Emma quickly stormed into the kitchen. I mewed at her to leave me to my feast, but she scooped me into her arms faster than I could dig my claws into the salmon. She brought me back to the isolation room despite my loud protests and placed my food dish of plain Kitty Kravings in front of me before leaving and locking the door. I leaned forward and sniffed the kibble. Putrid.
Chena Is Home 