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Again.
In the middle of the night he is lit from behind, the glow of the hall light shining through his skin and I want to ask him all the things that end in Yes, the things that someone else with better words and softer, paler edges could spin into the silk of romance and something…
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Time Capsule
Everything else of significance will fit in your palm, tarnished and worn…
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Untitled, September 4 2015
This has been a trying week, with a lot of scary things happening close to home and around the world. I’ve been simultaneously trying to wrap my head around it all and to pretend that I don’t see the ugliness, and I keep coming back to this one thing that I simply cannot understand. With…
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Scribble.
And in the middle of this, there are lines drawn in chewed-paper crayons and apple-red lipstick, in pencils with metal eraser bands sharpened and cruel, in the sand on the sidewalk outside a long-outgrown day care’s fenced playground with a stick, dragged behind carelessly In the cracks of the mirrors, the anger-creased palms, the wrinkles…
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Gay Marriage Ruined My Life: A Right Wing Fairy Tale
I don’t know where to begin with this. One year, six months, and five days ago, I got straight married. This morning, that marriage is over, the sanctity of it ripped apart by the selfish ruling of the Supreme Court of the United States of America. The Court has ruled that states no longer have…
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Lucky.
He brings me books: A biography of Elvis Costello; a notebook from 1932, filled with careful script: a schoolgirl’s notes on history; Tom Perotta and the like. He sings to me when I can’t sleep, tells me stories about bars and hidden tables talks me safely toward the morning, through the dark. He sits across…
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Sunshiney Things
It’s been one of those days that leaves me stuck for words, tangled up in wishing for a little break from all the sad things going on. So here, again, are some recent photos of sunshiney things and clouds and bugs and other such things that make me slow down and remember that things can…
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Epilogue
Give me something to look forward to, she said- The crease of your palm as your hand curves around the back of my neck, or the stillness that crowds your words when you whisper something no one else can know Let me be the one to taste the endorphins and whiskey in your voice When you…
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Eleven twenty-three fourteen
…a book about the Grateful Dead the taste of fruit and whiskey…
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On Friendship and Cohabitation
“I’m not good at living with someone,” she said looking down at the floor. “I know,” I said. “I’m not either. But.” And I went home and waited for the song of tires on gravel folded myself into him, a tiny slip of paper in his palm.
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April Fox 