Monday, October 26, 2009


I'm packing up the things I want, slowly but surely
Because you said you don't want anything
And certainly not from me
And I'm taking the thick, green cups
And the 1950's radio
The Chinese laundromat sign that hung over the cabinet
My travel photo collection,
And all of the framed nonsense
The sanctified garbage that I clutch to my chest like treasure...

But I'm leaving the bowls.

10 glass bowls that nest inside one another
Given to me by your mother
With a winknudgenod
And a "All of the Cartwright women have these bowls..."
It was a small, silly gesture
That made my eyes wet behind thick rimmed glasses.
Just like it did today, as i opened the cabinet and placed my hand on them


The way you would palm the side of someones face,
When you were speaking true words that were hard to hear.
When you loved them enough to help them hold up their head.
I sat there holding the side of the thick, cool glass
Imagining other futures.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Birthday signals

How strange is it that today is my Dad's birthday, not hours ago I got
off the phone with him telling him of my wanderlust, and then I lay
down to read my copy of deadeye dick and I find this inscription from
before I was born, when my parents were in love and my dad had
apparently just returned from Saturn. Universe WHAT are you telling me?

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Go West.

Of all the roofs we slept under together
And there were many:
(The treehouse in New Brunswick, that crowded Hunter Gatherer Lair,
A leaky, creaky rowhouse on Grace Street, the cement bungalow near the park...)
It was the only one we owned.
And the first time we did not follow our tradition
Sleeping on the floor for the first night, ordering pizza
Living in voluntary poverty for the romance of it - the silent nod that said:
We're doing this together for another year. Cheers.
Our time together measured in years, in houses, objects
In methodically arranged book spines on shelves.
In the year we spent there, not much changed.
Maybe that was where we went wrong.

And so today, we sold it all, to someone who will never know what happened before them.
To them, history begins today
And for us, darling, the book has closed.
I told Lisa I was fine, but when my pen hit the paper the tears flooded my entire body
Overwhelmed me, just for a moment.
I broke down behind closed doors, because of the finality of print, of ink, of final chapters.

Tonight I set my phone alarm for 9:17pm, a number that means something
(Because in my great big pulsing heart, I want everything to mean something,
to point somewhere, to conclude)
And when it rang I glanced through the crowd, when the coast was clear
Lifted my glass just a little, in a crowded room
Made a silent toast to you and to me.
Goodbye, dear love.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Before my jaw popped out, of course.

People say I exaggerate
That I make my stories more fanciful
For flair, for impact, to invoke magic, create metaphor...

And maybe I do.
But not this time.

Saturday night found us on a North Carolina island
And when we danced in the sand
(A giggly, fast-footed jig)
The sand underneath us lit up like the night sky
And the faster we danced, the more it glowed.
Bio-luminescent Zooplankton, he claims.
But I think it might just be proximity to each other, honestly.

The moon was a pirate's moon, golden and wrapped in grey clouds
And the wind was cold enough for matching Zissou hats
And Seu Jorge
But not cold enough to leave before running down the beach like little kids
Trying to find Dolphins and Blue Crabs and Sea Monsters and Tigers.

The non-metaphorical, non-poetic reality is this:
we were honestly running around the beach
In our steve zissou hats
Dancing on star sand and catching ghost crabs.

Friday, October 9, 2009

How to make a painting.

First, get the giggles out. You can't take yourself too seriously. Sometimes the giggles may last for a very long time. Hang in there.

Once you're serious, make sure you have the following things: a mustache, a red silk flower, aprons, and grins.

You may decide to use a pen-name that is very similar to your actual name, this is ok! It helps create mystique.

Enjoy your paintings, Jamie and Dustin.

Friday, October 2, 2009