velika plana, march 2009

twentyseven

twentysix

snowing
on spring’s first day
the train
zagreb to gospić
curving up
into velebit mountains
station waiting
sky darkening
message must have
been lost
to pick me
up

to a place called
linden tree
velika plana village
7:07am waking
rice pudding-
we take turns
making it
stirring always
in the same direction
(said someone’s grandmother)
can’t remember now
if it was clockwise
or counter-
sweet coffee
boźidar, sara, silja
red tractor ride
sitting on haystacks
meeting the horses
“honestly,”

dizzy
months and months
and no one is waiting for me
touching my face
sunburn salmon heat
trapped somewhere
today i filled holes
with sheep’s wool
so the snakes
can’t come inside
today i ate whole pieces
of honeycomb,
the original chewing gum
they say.

dreamings-
running a marathon
using three pairs of shoes
choosing a blueberry crêpe,
ylvie there, in her bright
turquoise cap, running
to meet me
walking along the top
grand canyon edge
megan’s family and we are all taking a picture together
i am confused, looking at a big map
lines and numbers
can’t find the right bus
to get home.

walking to the farm
each morning
alongside a dog
named medo
(meadow)
protecting us
but terrorizing
other people’s chickens
nodding to neighbors
saying “dobar dan”
an invitation
eight o clock
morning homemade
rakija shots
what do you do
but smile
and drink

more snow
we are tearing down walls
plaster sprinkles
then sanding to
phil collins
on cassette
lunch break
eating soup

chills
building
fences weaving branches
thinking about
wendy’s house of leaves
thinking people huddle
they hold on to what is near
i know people hold on tight sometimes and me i’m
i am far
“jezebel

sayin’ wait. we swear
we’ll love you more.”

i miss sleeping in and big paintings
my dresses, the loft
in los angeles,
and fish tacos.

oatmeal
i am listening to the horses
eat their corn
i am crossing my fingers
i am braiding my hair all the way
down to the bottom
scratches on hands
layers of blankets
two, three, four
rubberboots
riddles, stories

two days ago my brother turned 23.
i remember him small
in a red toy car
red and yellow plastic,
growing up too big
still trying
to fit inside
something about it
he just loved.

i can’t concentrate.
polishing saddles
this american life
lentil bolognese
rain replacing snow
“hard life”
by bonnie prince

who’s seen jezebel.
je pense à toi.
california
brown and blue.

“letter from hrvatska”
let me tell you, plainly
that i was falling down
from something very tall
oak or, eucalyptus
linden maybe cherry
down, landing some
big air only air
pushed it quick
inside to out
pulling little branches
from my hair something
angled wrong what it feels like is
sometimes still, this down
fall.

livorno, april 2007

i am in italy now,
kieran’s apartment
bialetti
answering phones
“pronto”
i am ready.

the novelty
of kettle
and markets
clotheslines,

pocketed
aprons
mountain
tunnels

tender,
i am thinking about things
that will never come back.

traveller
pines,

like sleeping
in a big bed
until a ridiculous
afternoon time
then strawberries
and toast
drink tea
in my pajamas

this is what i want.
the bliss
of walls
of personal
space.

white grass
spread florally
island,
fortress
warm april
a dress
with lace

siesta
the laze
of it, grown
up napping

sun sea,
mediterranean
sometimes i think of peter
and i do not know why.

train, wroclaw to prague

twelve

sometimes people change their minds
and i think of, “how
to disappear completely.”

and
“stéphanie blues”
building watching
for ones i like
in patches looking
like quilts the leaning
ones, about
to fall.

“en gallop”
repeating, rachela
making buttons

i have so many things to tell you.

little village

anchor

little village
and room,
slant
window panes
in diamonds
now a waitress spilling
tomato soup

bicycling down
for berries, for
a pie, aude
the au pair
reminding me of my very
first friend
valerie.

aude, always
in red –
hat and cheeks
fierce sorrow

luc tuymans
memory and
its failure

tübingen, 2007

tubingenbig

fionabig

fiona,
with allan poe, and
typewriter

sometimes days
are just colours, and
two people

meeting there, crossing
street hills cobbling
downwards, swinging
chair outside
together and talking of letters,
haikus,
cooking upstairs –
attic kitchen.
to the bakery
for rolls, practicing
practicing my numbers eins
zwei

fiona wears black and speaks excellent french.
i can’t help it, fiona
that i do not have any lovers.

leaving poland

eleven

leaving poland
strawberry pierogi
andrzej tylkowski postcards
animal stickers
a jazz band finding us
forgetting to go to the flea market
melting snow
nina simone
beirut
grotowski 2009
boiling water
birds.

lucerne, april

castleyellowflowersbig

i have asked spring
please, to keep
me take
me with her
when leaving
wherever it is 
she goes.