Today I woke up feeling
So fucking grateful
I was convinced I needed
to go out and save the world:
immediately.
Right then, and there.
In my pajamas
Just to say thank you.
Today I woke up feeling
So fucking grateful
I pulled out my laptop at 6am,
because I knew,
I just knew I had to
start working right away
for the spendthrift gods
Just to say thank you.
This morning I woke up scared.
Of my sex
Of the future…
Of whether
or not
You’d be in it.
And if I’d survive my decisions.
Scared I might be wrong.
By now you’ve probably figure out
all of the reasons it’s good
I’m not in your life anymore.
By now you’ve stopped trying to interpret
the silence.
By now you’ve probably raised your eyebrows
at another gal.
Maybe one with a heart
That’s full of love
for you,
Like yours was for me.
Rock paper scissors
She threw something down:
Paper.
It was her turn,
But she forgot
What to say.
The pen wouldn’t write
itself anymore.
I forget how to say.
Some days, you’re my “Guapo.” Some days you’re that “little fucker.” Today is one of those days.
Stop patronizing God
by always asking
for permission;
by begging Her
to babysit your fears.
God is like a psychic:
She doesn’t tell you the future,
She tells you what you already know.
“I’m Laura’s mom,” she said wearing the pink shirt and blue jeans like she promised. And yes, her was short and curly, but not blond like she said. More of a tentative grey: She lied with the modesty of age. Her eyes were kind, the kind of kind you only get from wasted hopes and years of disappointment. They were hidden behind glasses like curios in a cabinet, so you couldn’t shatter their fragility with a greedy gaze. Pockets had swollen beneath those eyes like a frog’s throat glutted with air, oxidized by time.
“Here you go.” She passed me a reusable grocery bag containing a brown box labeled Christianbooks.com. “Here are the Christmas lights.”
“Christmas lights? I thought she needed a prescription.”
“That’s in there too, but she wanted Christmas lights.”
I had just left my friend, Sarah, a doctor in Boston, for the bus station to visit Laura in New York, where Laura’s mom intercepted me. I couldn’t help but wonder what Sarah would think of this strange prescription: twinkling whimsy and nostalgia.
My Periphery 