tender

if the adjective to title my life's past few days was "tender," these two moments would explain why.

first, I was on the train platform, waiting for the C to take me home. i had my headphones in, as usual, quite loud, as there were crowds of people and it was rush hour. in a city with so many people, i spend an alarming amount of time not speaking to anyone, or interacting with them really. so i'm standing on the yellow stripe that, were there an advancing train, might be taunting death, but really there were just so many nauseous waves of people and imposing crowds that i felt like i could breathe in the yellow. then came a touch that was very soft at my elbow. it was so gentle. i looked down at a small hand on my arm, then looked up into the face of a wrinkled old man pushing a cart. he appeared to be homeless, with all of his belongings dangling off of his cart, and he lingered at my arm with such softness and, yes, tenderness, that even several days later I am still thinking of that moment.

the second moment happened today. first, you should know about my mother's cedar chest. in it, she stored all of her wools, her yarns, her shawls, and other fibrous things that she would use with her loom. i was always fascinated by the cedar chest, because it held such treasures, and it had the most heady, delicious smell. it was cedar, but also sheep, and oils, and age. so today, the UPS man brought me a birthday package from my parents. among the cute things, the recipe book, the candle, and the soap, snuggled hanks and spools of yarn. maybe twenty or thirty different balls of wools and cottons, because my mother knows that i recently started knitting. i nearly broke at that point, because these were hers, but did not until i found the largest hank. it is undyed, ivory wool, loosely looped and about the size and mass of a pillow. i held it to my face, and it was the cedar chest. at home, there are usually heavy things on top of it, so i haven't had my face in it in years and years, but i recognized the smell all the same. it was my mother, my youth, my curiosity and the beginning of my art consciousness, infused into this hank of wool. and i got weepy, and my heart softened and squished like an overripe banana.

tender.

(hi charm city.)

what an odd phase this is

in the hothot waters of my bath, I always bring a glass of ice
I set the cubes on the top of my head
the coldcold water trickles down through my hair
and licks my scalp, and it makes me think of
how it would feel
to crack an egg on my head
and let the yolk run down to sneak into my ears,
maybe
while the white
leaves slimy snail tracks on the back of my neck and
tickles the tiny hairs there
like a ghost

but it's just an ice cube, not an egg
which is hidden,
buried and cozy,
redred clots in the water

yesterday.

the phone rings.
"hello, archives."
"do you allow females in the club?" she asks.
"I'm... sorry?" the word females throws me off. it sounds so clinical.
"do you allow females in the club," she repeats.
"um, I'm sorry, I don't understand your question. this isn't a club," I tell her.
"Isn't this a strip club?"
"no, we're an archives."
"what's that."
"kind of like a library."

she hangs up.

the funny thing is that apparently this sort of thing happens all the time. people call, thinking we are a sex club, a strip club, an escort service, a brothel. what surprised me the most was the idea that a "strip club" with the word lesbian in the title would not invite women.

it's national poetry month

you get what you put in
I think, while at the laundromat
there is not nearly enough foam amidst my tshirts

and also, I'm alone
save her warmth at bedtime

a little thing

I like her dust-spider-legs that clump together
when she cries
fringe that I want touching my nose
or my cheek
when she blinks

our hearts, when they touch,
rub together with a soft
shhh

the E train feels like a strange place to be

two moments on the subway today:

I could see his penis through dowdy polyester khakis, lying like a benign, sleeping cucumber along his thigh. it bothered me, but I had a hard time looking away.

two people on opposite ends of a long bench seat seemed close to tears, at the same time. a girl was not wearing pants in that fashionable way, just leggings, with her thin calves disappearing into tall boots. her eyes glittered and her lips were red and pouty like they get after a good sob. on the other end of the bench a man held his face in a grimace like when you chew back tears, until a child lept into his lap and broke the spell.

furniture adventure

an exciting piece of news in my life lately is that I now am the proud owner of a new (used) bed. with a frame. this is kind of mundane in the broad sense of things, I suppose, but the journey it took to get it safely in my room is worth noting. not unlike the fried chicken pursuit of 2 years ago, that marked the true downfall of my vegetarianism - probably also the downfall, or at least quashing, of other things as well. but back to the bed. 7 hours, one 10-foot moving van, 5 boroughs, 40 dollars in tolls, several bruises, and two states later, and I have a bed. the van only had two seats, so the artist formerly/currently known as dino sat in one (her legs are basically longer than, well, me) and noggin sat in the other. crouched on the floor, leaning against the edge of the seat, and able to see nothing but the street lights shoot by reminded me of high school - it seems that we always ended up crammed in, clown car style.

spoke to bagel, because these days we only call each other a) during a crisis and b) when we need directions. in this case, it was both. I do miss her. are you reading this, bagel? please do come visit me.

I had a lot of energy for this post, but suddenly it's gone. perhaps I'll revisit later.