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Celestial great-grandparents and
their deadbeat grandson.
I think maybe one day, I’ll find Eden.
So that I can say I accomplished something
May 6, 2025
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Nov 1, 2024
Keeping a direct line open to one’s ancestors is I think a very effective way of not falling off the face of our earth. This could be facilitated by a piece of family jewelry or a photo/painting of/belonging to an ancient in your line. Warning sometimes these objects can get a bit charged and you gotta maybe light a candle and open a window and be like I know, I’m listening, thank you. For me remembering that I am a small sapling from many redwoods helps me feel looked out for and like if i take a big swing and miss they will still love me.
May 30, 2025
May 24, 2025
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I can recognize the adult faces of children I was in school with. I can remember the dragon tattoo on the forearm of a boy I only shared one conversation with. So, please imagine what I can remember of you. I hate the fact that I remember it. The way you fidgeted with your hair, the way you ate like a slob, the way you’d keep me up late with a call. I remember it because I loved it all. Every second of every hour. Every succulent and every flower. I gave them to you even though you hated them. Still, with grace you accepted my rose. Only to see my smile and the widening of my nose. I remember how we found out you were a comic and I was a poet. In the way that my jokes didn’t land and you couldn’t rhyme. Right then and there we were over. We just didn’t know it. I remember our final conversation. I was headed home and you were head to New York. That night we didn’t say goodbye, only a “see you later.” I remember feeling like that was a lie.
May 18, 2025
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I wish I were born a mutated farm animal. That way, I'd only be suffered to live one night. In the morning, they’d take me out with a kiss from a rifle. My mother would lack the capacity to understand, in a way only mothers can. So she would do the only thing she knew, care. Care for my siblings, the ones born right. The ambitious, the smart, even the cruel. They would grow strong and be sold. My sisters would have calves, and one day, I would be born again. Or at least the idea of me would be, and she’d remember. My sister would look upon her two-headed calf and remember the starry night on which I was born. Unfortunately for her, she was more than capable of remembering the misty morning I died on. In that moment, my bovine sister wished she were born a fool. Unfortunately for us both, farmhouse wishes don’t come true.
May 10, 2025