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A Place & A Space?
I just wrote this piece and while it may be a little cliche, as I know the idea of home has been exhausted, it’s been weighing heavy on my mind. I wanted to share with you all something that I have been struggling with this year.
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Alone at the TWA Hotel
Airports. Be re-inspired, re-invigorated, and maybe even find love….
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All The Scenes
Rarely does it occur. The glamorous scene of candid romance. I wait and wait, like a fool.
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Excerpt from Three Figures
A story of two swimmers attempting a world record open ocean swim.
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The Girls in the Corner of The Met
The girl in the corner of The Met ’s head remains down, although she knows people are looking. She is appearingly motionless, never revealing herself, not even just to confirm she’s being seen.
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Beneath the Pant
She must have had a diaper on. Under the large straw sunhat, Covid mask, neon orange blazer, long white sundress, ankle socks, and chunky new balance sneakers, was in no way just a bra and underwear.
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Adolescents in Zion
He pauses. He stares cautiously. Then, his face lifts ever so slightly. He grins provocatively, like 14-year-old boys do. Sometimes, beyond just the smirk, a few words will slip out. They aren’t muttered, but instead said with confidence.
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Balcony to Sea Entries
Moments from a new and unusual relationship
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In the Tramuntana
It soars down from the Serra de Traumuntana mountains of Mallorca, sending a shiver through whoever it passes. When the breeze reaches sea level, it greets the Mediterranean loudly, instantly chilling the saltwater and conjuring up a vivacious swell. For a Mediterranean sailor the turbulent Tramuntana means exhilaration.
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Irish Etiquette
The incessant chatter, that sounds like small talk but somehow doesn’t feel like small talk, the unintentional self deprecating humor that underlies the Irish tone, it feels safe. All are at ease.
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Poetry
City poetry. Mostly written in NYC…
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Just One Date
Elderly and unkempt FRANCIS sits alone on the most central bench in a crowded park. Couples cuddle and children laugh all around him. Pigeons are feeding at his feet on the crumbs of his half-eaten sandwich. The other half sits sloppily in his lap.
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Mountains are Extremists
Mountains are extremists. They elicit the need to pick a side. I like to verge on the edge of extremes. I crave conclusions. The culminating explanations that remain stagnant and consistent….There, I am at peace?
I like to memorize kitchens. Sometimes I think about them as I fall asleep. I familiarize myself with new ones at a neurotically swift pace and add them to the vault. There is my childhood best friend's kitchen where I would make waffles at 5am, my grandmother’s kitchen where she and I would sit impatiently over a pot of water, my own kitchenette in my apartment that I never use because my father cooks every meal for me still. There is something about knowing which drawer has the forks and which cabinet has the snacks, that makes me feel comforted, like I am in a version of home.
The only kitchen that I torture myself trying to recall, to go through the movements of, is my childhood one. It is perhaps my most familiar kitchen of all, yet I can only picture a vague outline of rectangular pieces of wood and marble. We moved out after my mother died, and it is as though the details of this kitchen disappeared into a dimly lit background and all I can see is her silhouette moving about. She has short hair and smooth skin, but her features are blurred. Everything about her lacks color. I search hopelessly for some sort of expression or clue that will make her recognizable. She is just a figure, going through bills on the counter, gesturing her extensive limbs about as her hands shuffle through the pile. She has a hammerhead tattoo on her wrist, but is it on her right hand or left hand? What shape are her nails as they slice into those envelopes? They must be long and pointy, but I don’t think they were ever painted. The figure begins rapidly opening drawers and pulling out tools, yet which tools lay in which drawers? I try to remember what kind of knobs are on the drawers and how many drawers in is the baking drawer? Is it the second drawer on the left side or the third? It haunts me that I wouldn't know how to make a cake with ease in my childhood kitchen. I wouldn’t even know where to find the mixing bowl.
Keep reading “Excerpt from Three Figures” above