ventura, 2007

r

i remember her in that yellow shirt
corduroy shorts
left leg kite
marker drawn
and no hair
my friend,
megan.

they are fighting now
in la mirada

lily, lolita, lo
queens of california
out there in long brown
locks, in all their
girl next doorness
i dreamt of haunted houses
and everyone getting married
and rosie thomas
in a purple dress

not enough money
what they say
this sunshine state’s
a black hole
it’s true
mcsweeney’s, vol 20
in steve’s bedroom
tired- they say
not enough iron

streetwise, tiny
her mouth upside down
warner kids
cars of ventura
behind the wildcat house
half pipe, they’re
skating in the backyard
driving, the three of us
in a grey pick up

tonight, spudnuts
maple
parking lot
red cardigan
broken car and we’re walking
without sky only
clouds

clean getaway
dark blue sparrow day
to escondido and back
the first real rain
since coming home
the absence of god
we – are starting fires
by accident
dipping our toes in
to feel warm
i’m here
again slouching
sewing autumn leaves
back
to their branches

cat tails
the ones that grow
near birches, in pieces
skin and lace
cold feet
and wild hearts
can’t be broken

riding in cars with boys
and big hands
scared of that place
in their heads, girls
with pink hair
and skinny legs
that hungry place they all go
even the quiet ones
who listen to soft music
and read philosphy

night fog
scratches down my arms
patterns from opening
paper bags over
and over
“falawar”
a flower
from yap island

california’s on fire
and winds named ana
black and yellow
the dark afternoons
those palms in pasadena
tall and crooked
leaning right, every single
one

i was counting crows
near the coldwater canyon
exit, north
on the 101
thinking of oregon
the sea and its rhythm
soft and late
i count down the streets
moon, telephone, hill
i count down from skeel
coe, lantana, ponderosa
carmen

moving boxes
isaac and his keyboard
falalfel dinners
pez candy

in my trunk- loose
confetti, a road atlas
a patterned
sleeping bag

coming back, 2007

flying over new mexico
above the second sea level
clouds,
soft cursive
fleece rising
up out of
mauve
and lumps
a second sea
level, a blur
of foam
and one line-
crayon
for a moment

the city at night
little my city bright
and i am coming
down in

a letter to owatonna,
the monsoons are here
dust floating
around

dreams in the middle
he was scratching her back
and her arms the sound
too loud
and my brown dress
too short
my bones not showing
enough in my knees

i didn’t expect people to keep me
while i was out there
yawning on trains.
i remember daniel.
splinters.
we are growing a vegetable garden
and reading milan kundera.
vertigo
being buried,

kirsten says
“i don’t want to hold something
that when you hold it
it dies”

dreams he is
kissing my knee

what i remember about montreal, 2011

20big

22big

21big

the radio was on when we were crossing the bridge
and you thought their french
sounded funny

trying to look around,
observe things
at stoplights
through chinatown
to the latin quarter

i remember getting bagels
and that cafe with all the plants
that was just perfect
a picture of a window
with rectangles of
construction paper
behind the glass,
evenly spaced
colours i liked

season colours-
things we wore-
my brown boots
and you in my
yellow sweater
often
a diner
sitting in the window booth
up front
coffee
and back then
i think we took it
with cream

walks
always walks
the spiral
staircases
the bricks paintings
on the walls
a shoestore named
yellow,
that sign OMMA
with the floral
letters

i think we took
your car
i assume
we went to a bakery
because that’s
what we love,
loved.

this city’s great
thinking yeah yeah
this is great
turning a corner and
yeah, maybe one day
i’ll move here

leaves dropping
in the backgrounds
of things-
a gentle
autumn snow

park bench
kinder egg
in all the pictures
your eyes, they’re closed

arriving, portland maine

darlingbig

cigaretting up
on the fire escape
it’s january first.

renter’s insurance
our names
in ink
in target with a big red
shopping cart and furniture
folded up, undone
driving home lost
familiarity a gift
quiet
now just me and darling
the cat now
for a little
while

shoveling snow
is a lot of work
and there’s one paperwhite
bloom
in the window

walking through town
rosy coat to knees
up high right
on congress
local sprouts a house
mug a buck
twenty five across
the street a general store
i liked,
memory isolated –
soon went out
of business
after
that day i went in
looking for a screwdriver.

snow and sidewalks
made of red
bricks. napping not
knowing how
to get started
staring at new pale
walls fumbling
forgetting
things

nova scotia, september 2011

11big

13big

15big

going north
and then let’s
go farther-
halifax,
katie and abe
trans canada highway
trees forever
on both sides.

cape breton
cabot trail
big sighs
and quiet
looking
wooden
houses and boats
in the front yards
prairies
on top mountains
at meat cove
cheticamp,
iginosh
highlands
cove,
ocean playground.

middlehead trail
and waterfalls running
into the sea
my friend
in a red hood
giggling
and sometimes
we are just
seven
years old.

we take turns
driving, napping
your pearl earrings
avocado
in the grass

new brunswick wide
road small
hills, border
signs for bangor
lewiston auburn
almost home.

we did not see wild horses.
or moose.
i’m trying
to not feel disappointed
about that.

leaving providence

image

things in boxes
that used to hold pears
and i am scrubbing cabinets
window panes hallway
floors thinking i’ve hated
this house thinking
yes, i’ve loved
this house

at work cleaning out
another locker, another
family now floating –

wade
with the blue eyes,
kind seth, and leanne
who always said,
“what a nice lady.”
the sues, and steve just
something about that man
i loved

u-haul, strange
to own furniture and everything’s
loaded and i don’t even stop
for a last look i just
completely forgot

new york city, june 2010

image

image

lines
of morning
corner entrance –
café
grumpy, then
el beit back
patio,
danielle

summer
somehow
though found
a new
(expensive)
sweater, sighing
this weather’s months
away still but
the colour the way
it’s woven (!) laughing
she says –
“it’s okay it’s
a good one it’s
your new york
sweater.”

scented
sunscreen,
i am walking
like i’ve lived
here for years past
stoops, people
strewn,
a casualness
pretending
i could know them
past potted
begonias
assorted herbs past
delis and diners
little italy
walking

in a dress, my
hair turned
over
in a bun, we
with sarah
in squares –
times, herald
one of those
tiny tables
middle
of the street
her accent
taking me there
together
reminiscent our
english village
and waitressing –
what that was
like and has anyone
heard from aude
(?)

expressways
and i think of
brooklyn queens,
an album i confess
i never listened to.
jacob riis beach
is not as nice
as fort tilden,
i hear
sunburn, rosy
back swimming
in the pacific
in a dress.
ocean thinking
actually
wanting to find
seaglass, pale
those pieces how
gentle
they’ve turned
back home
on north henry –
milkshakes
and aloe,
suntired napping.
then quickly
on the bike down driggs
down twelfth down
kent
avenue, and

there’s a tree
in mccarren park
one i’m beneath
and come back
to a tree it
means something
this one,
to me.

portland maine, april 2012

image
image

cloudy sleep in laundry
my big red pot
simmering
house dress big
sweatshirt napping
sort
of day
and i always overload
the washing machine

o pioneers!
marie and emil
and alexandra belonging
to the land, brave
bicycle
up munjoy hill
how it suddenly opens-
the view, opens
up the way it widens
suddenly to water
to islands and sail
boats
boba tea and
hairs cross
my cheeks
bright.
bright and warm
just me and willa
and clementines

ahmed playing keys
at blue on saturday
“alabama”
“everything happens to me”

telescoping
connectedness
aiden
yesteryear
lark

oh, and
“things
fall apart.”

new years eve, 2010

swiss beer fondue
german champagne
bûche du noël

small unpackings
the necessary ones
forks and plates
plugging in lamps
arranging
the living room
our mattress still
in the center you
asleep and i’m nudging
whisper hey it’s almost
midnight-

dreaming, november 2011

17big

at someone else’s
house i am falling
asleep, fires
in bedrooms people
yelling-

i am in a car,
a van
an old friend.
is wearing a vest
and grinning
having
the time of our lives
walking down
town i’m not sure
if i’m visiting him
or he me,
the colours
darkened, lights
are dimmed

in london.
passenger seat
almost night my zumi
camera up
to the window
recording it all
passing-
a carnival, trees
a theatre with large
murals passing
in blurs the car
with kayleigh,
she has printed out
maps and i hold them
up and say- see?
london streets
are all curving
and they change names
two three times.

we are going to lunch
at a table with yellow
flowers and i’m trying
to keep them
from falling
into the vase it’s
too big
and the flowers they
are small.

in london still
but it’s india.
a hotel bedroom
underground and i can’t
breathe right.
beds are big
and soft, thick
layers of dust
around windows,
somehow a breeze
coming in.
i’m there with O-lan
from “the good earth”
and i tell her
please, i’d like
to go see the land.
there are people sitting
around now, listening
to me. the room
has bright colours
and everyone is drinking tea.

july 17th, 2006

image

asleep on top of something thin
to music, and
woke up in fever
the window, shade
in places it wasn’t
before, dimmer, wild
field backyard

house alone
washed over, it ran
and tripped
over me this
napping dream,
waking to a hush

kitchen, toast
through the rubbish
looking, something
realized i wasn’t quite
ready to throw

august 5th, 2010

image
image
image

“already
my body is a twilight: solid. gold
at the edge of a larger darkness.
but outside
my window
a summer day is beginning. apple trees
appear, one by one. light is pouring
into the promise of fruit.”
– eavan boland

roger williams park
afternooning
in the swans
paddling
on a lake

walking
japanese gardens
lunching
pita and raita
yellow plums lemon
cookies

lily pads little
bridges, your
camera up close –
blue dragonfly.
swans the ducks
they are brown and we
are feeding them
pepitas we
are strolling
just strolling

in evening
wearing red
yarn tied
up in hair
because i miss some things
about myself
sometimes.

we are reading
the “grean tee” email
couches, taking
turns with pauses
elaborations
together remembering
a beginning
a bedtime
story that one of peter
and wendy yes
that one.

loft

loftwindowbig
loftstudiobig

moving day
rachela’s loft
making walls
of bedsheets
floral, calico
i remember
there are birds called wendies

shopping cart sounds
in night, and morning
bus ride, LAX
steetlight fire
flies pass on windows
and the palms
like black balloons

summer warms in february
1st street to glendale
overheating car green
leaking to the curb
groceries, immigrants
cans of beans
kidney, pinto

friend in red, singing
1920’s roxy
heart i was driving there –
the unknown theatre –
lost in hollywood, that
drumming melodic pedro
and his lion

pretty sure that was the night
i in white and you
said you know you look
an angel

philadelphia songs

philadelphia

washington square, twice
sore ankles
streets named after trees
i wanted to sit by
the delaware river
think about those bridges
bright yellow in
pittsburgh

los angeles, 2007

rachelkirsmetro

melancholy play
hollywood
metro, sierra villa
park and ride
lolita

autumn, rhode island

treesbig

pumpkinsbig

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swan point, cemetery
leaves like butter
flies twirling
in air, as girls do
in pretty dresses.
and the sugar maples
they are lit up.

to johnston,
a patch, picking
a long island cheese
a cinderella

how to keep
this autumn
little shivers
nose sniffles
and you say my hair
sometimes
is the colour
of copper

los angeles, 2010

kirstenbig

meganpregnant2big

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steve picks me up
grey toyota, hair
coloured
of california daytime.
sirens loud,
surrounding.
to highland park, ash
street, to megan’s stomach
stretching to hold
something round, like
the sun’s 
inside.

baby names –
elouise or pony.
freaks and geeks
potato salad
pinkberry

late mornings, afternoons
i think, hymn
california – cotton
woods, juniper
golden hills, everything
dry, but ripe how badly
i wanted to leave
four years, two years
ago, now sitting
looking around missing
it all

bending 110 freeway
taco trucks
citrus

we are driving to altadena
wind blowing the hollow
in my ears, and the one story
bungalows pass
like a filmstrip
with wind chimes
and tired paint.

cheese store of silverlake
the little alley of fairbanks
place, a place
of her own, a breakfast
nook, cats, something
stitched, big red
poppy, leaning
against the wall.

a patio, a view
you can even see
the hollywood sign.
the front room is dim
a record playing
couch low, we sit
and she tells me
in a maroon dress
what happened
her weeks
on heroine.

outside it is bright
she is shading her eyes.

meadowlarks
small sorrow
pilgrim
enduring
recover
sequoia

october 10th, 2012

28

poetess
low contrast
car troubles
controlled hallucinations
the autobiography of a fever

maine, january 2012

5big

field notes
yellow threaded quilts
groceries
champagne
copycats
clouded
pinhole

at last, snow
plows fumbling
down streets

a memory theatre
things by my bedside
teabags, barrettes
things in the corner
all the same colour
suitcase, type
writer wooden box
bright pale blue, there-
like siblings.

snow funny under
in my navy madeline
coat, on ice shuffling
today missing
my dad.

memories of the future
how remembering one thing
is at least two
things.

monet- boulevard st.denis,
argenteuil, in winter (1875)