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.

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

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

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.

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.

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)