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.

salt fields, kampot cambodia

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passing them
from the back of a scooter
unsure at first –
a gloss
reflecting sky
or rectangles
of ice, rows
harvested
white
little pyramids

eventually

000027

000002

don’t forget india.

unpacking,
water stains
things i don’t remember
getting wet.

now, baths
hours
of extra skin
reading about vietnam
world war two
(an attempt at
intentionality)
wondering what
i’ll write in letters
this winter wondering
why i can’t make it home
for kirsten’s wedding if
i would have been
a bridesmaid and what spring
in california
is like this year
and storytelling-
i am making this
up my
narrative
outgrowing
your own character
sometimes
that happens
palms up, steaming
(knowing)
i am full
of something powerful.

exchanging
companions.
now, just big shy
sidewalks
without plants
stalls carts and where
are all the people
scents
and songs litter
animals-
now, it’s quiet

now, victorians
carved in pairs
with porches,
gates overflowing
rosemary

but mostly i’m cold
i don’t have the right clothes.
i am not ready for
autumn in april-
everything’s backwards
and all i have are kurtas
and two pairs
of thin socks
but there are things
returning-
like groceries
shelves an
address a laundry
basket,
keys
the most ordinary
dear things they’re
coming back

lists
and getting started
i’m a toss
in the night dreams
and twists
and aches on hold
i still can’t
really let out
holding air
waiting,

this transition
of body
and after a while
the rest,
eventually
following

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.”

christmas 2013 (hitching in thailand)

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i remember there was a market
just beginning
as we left bangkok
stalls setting
up, streets
closing off

curb waiting
bus to ayutthaya
night arriving
storytelling
on the balcony
which in the morning
i discovered
was painted
peach

by the river
on steps
watching boats
at a table
drinking tea
birdcages
surrounding
looking
looking, trying
not to look

bicycles
past ruins
of stone, palaces
in grass
past lights
lighting trees
market, paying
with little stones

pink elephants
dressed up
we stole away
saw the show
from fields
for free
fireworks, shadows
of actors, a history
the old kingdom
of siam

mango sticky
rice on the side
of the road
got a ride
to ang thong
radio antenna
in air like
pencil lines
hotel corridors
mosquitoes
you are on the phone
to a friend named
lina

sing buri
someone, a kid
called his mother
a teacher, to help
translate
black marker
on cardboard
lines and shapes
new alphabet
someone, her cousin
drove us
to the next town

christmas eve
khlong khlung
7 eleven
taro buns
and rum, VIP
room, roadside
guesthouse

morning
petrol station
i remember
there were windmills
green and yellow
a bird sitting
on top
the yellow

back
of a red pick up
highway
then smaller
mountain roads
scarf around
cold wind
the driver
made a stop
bought us
corn

arriving in li
that curved arch
in shimmers
pillows outside
for prayer
looking for
rooms on backs
of scooters

we are almost
to chiang mai
i remember tall
fountain grass
a rhythm
of sunlight
passing through stems
from a car
window, back
seat closing
eyes once
twice
we are almost there-
to chiang mai

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.