to long to remember __ flavors of home__ from too long ago
1. A favorite breakfast food
2. A favorite pantry item
3. Another favorite pantry item
4. A favorite baked good
5. A favorite television show
6. A favorite candy
7. A favorite childhood book or character
8. A radio station from home / A comforting radio series
9. A favored cookbook
10. A favored picture book
11. A holiday meal. Positive connotation.
12. A holiday tradition. Positive connotation. Noun. Plural.
13. An evening ritual. Positive connotation. Noun. Plural.
14. The flavor of comfort.
15. A preferred fabric
16. A fabric that is associated with softness and warmth
17. A comforting sound of a kitchen
18. A joyful sound of the space outside your front door
19. The smell of peace / restorative sleep
20. A token of affection
21. The flavor, scent, or feel of love / sweet
to remain unable to forget __flavors of home__ from not too long ago
An unfavored or disliked breakfast food
A disliked pantry item
Another disliked pantry item
A disliked baked good
A disliked television show
A disliked candy
A disliked childhood character
A radio station from a faraway city / An irritating radio series
The name of a fast-food chain
A disliked picture book
A holiday mishap. Noun. Plural.
An unpleasant holiday ritual.
An unpleasant childhood ritual.
The flavor of discomfort.
A disliked fabric
A fabric that is associated with harshness and coldness
An irritating kitchen sound
An irritating sound associated with the space outside your front door
The smell of a nightmare
A token of contempt / disdain
The flavor / scent / feel of judgment
__1__ sizzles on open griddles. eggs boil. voices scramble. temperatures turned up high. pantries stocked of __2__. __3__, too. scents of __4__. sounds of __5__. red licorice vines and __6__ fill bellies. ___7___ and __8__ fill minds. tousle. stir. simmer. savor. consume. __9__ and __10__. home is _11_ and _12_. blends of __13__ and __14__. layers of __15__ and bushels of __16__.
music in motion. _17__ & _18_. motors in use. _19_ & _20_. mostly, _21__.
on naming conventions :: of dolls, documents, & documentation
i’ve always had a name but haven’t always known who i am.
names (& naming conventions) have varied. through/of the years.
baby.girl.she.her.one.trouble.that.then.hen.her.she.babe.doll.
repetition in all corners. strings of letters mix & mingle.
hair strung of chords & (mis)calculations.
mirror images. memory muscles. music makers.
guitar strings pluck. heart strings pull.
letters condense then pool.
sweetened of saccharine. seasoned of salt. soured of spoilt milk.
a.b.c.d.f.g.z.y.w.x.v.i.o.u.m.e
proper names rarely used. performative nuances regularly used. uniformly usurped.
as moments turn to minutes i collect documents and documentation that bear
(& bare) the peculiar practices
of manners of address.
Hey, Doll.
i walk the avenue - a single track in a tangled maze of city blocks
& consume
Inhale. Conceal. Exhale. Reveal.
Hey, Doll. the man in an orange construction hat & plaid overcoat calls between uneven breaths. his drill documents tasks & time. His stature a document of the times. all attention on me.
eyes shutter. ears ring. nose wrinkles. neck hairs stand. all senses engaged (& enraged).
his attention retired. to/on/of the hole. cracked concrete at booted feet. his call a dusty moment of a day in repetitive motion.
fingers (mine), gloved and guarded, touch reddened lips.
his call. received. collect.
i do not accept. i (f)alter. soles on asphalt. souls stir. of the alphabet.
bowls of noodle soup simmer. a.b.c.d.o.l
love lingers long after landlines recede.
Hi, Doll, the voice in my head whispers. with a regularity that bests the mickey mouse alarm clock on the bedside table. a gift from the voice, full of all five senses, that is no longer of the avenue, though the avenue remains of her.
she’d greet me with the phrase each morning. no matter the weather. via all five senses. all attention on me. from brick front steps. over rotary phone wires. via solitary residences.
of the avenue - a single track in a tangled maze of city blocks.
i cannot name the sensation or the sentiment. though i consume via all five senses.
i am unnamed & named. i am of the (named) avenue. i am me.
on convention and (naming) conventions :: the plural uniquely singular
i remember (being / when i was called)
a girl with mean eyes by a man-boy with a mean tongue who waited and watched as all the girls ran to retrieve tennis balls (he was in charge and overindulged, we were his charges and under-resourced) on grassy courts
a young’n with crazy hair by an elder with a crazy mind and a belief that the straighter one’s hair the purer one’s being
a rare bird when i was two weeks over-stuffed, overdue, and committed to a natural delivery by an emergency room nurse with a penchant for iv fluids and pain killers
nothing. when all i craved was noise.
cracked. when all i craved was connection.
the sun by my son. & my baby daughter giggled, pumped her chubby hand towards the brightly lit sky & uttered her first word
mooooooooooooom. when all i craved was silence
lucky by a lady who wore red, blue & yellow framed sunglasses and who drove too fast at a time i moved too slow and who nearly hit my red, blue, and yellow plastic big wheel (myself in the driver’s seat) with her big wheels (herself in the driver’s seat)
a string of letters by prick
a chick by a drunk
honey by a bitter busybee who’d save me a seat on the train so that i could help her complete the morning crossword just in time for her to greet her morning co-workers with her completed grid.
believer by a band of johavah’s witnesses at my screen door. a baby on my right. & left hip. once. twice. three times. when I craved conversation.
single lady by the choir of married men who’d spend coffee breaks smoking cigarettes and sharing stories of pool games & nights in hotel pools
a threat after retrieving a roll of butter rum lifesavers on a sidewalk outside a drug store and then stopped by a policeman dressed in a blue uniform and doused of rum
a dumb blond (when i had brown hair) by a boy who i had just beaten in a 5th-grade math challenge
why do i not remember ever being called _me_
on recollections of under-nourished & over-crafted worlds
as dusk fades to dawn, flannel-clothed legs curl & mice scamper, minds seek refuge & refurbished residences. hammers knock. clocks tick. then tock. vines of red licorice & neon green sour patch kids twist then tangle. memory pulses then unfolds under the weight of the down blanket & the whisper of the baby’s soft coo. curiosity calls as eggs simmer then hatch in nearby diners. counter seats always open. on cycles of spin & spontaneous sleep. interrupted. bacon browns. coffee brews & mugs beckon. sleep suspended. memory both crafted & suspect. some shadows loom larger than others. those typically reserved for sleepless nights. kitchens open. not for experiences but experimentation. dreams haunt.
A persistent fear
A disfavored flavor
An unmet wish
A loss (curated, crafted, contained)
the down blanket stretches. memory continues to pulse. continuously crafted for conspicuous consumption. tightly tangled pockets of fabric smother. fresh eggs crack. recollections spill then pool amidst unsuspecting suspects.
Pencils up, heads down. You know the drill. By now, she says. Again. And again.
Nights on repeat. Repetition neither new nor knowing.
Ready. Set. Go.
No, I whisper.
You can do this, she says.
Both she and I remain nameless.
Legs wrestle in wars of solitary silence.
Lead scratches on paper clear of blemish and error.
Blemishes persist. Errors everywhere.
I can but I won’t, I declare.
Again. A whisper pulling the weight of choice.
i will not write of _1__,
nor __2__.
i shall speak not of __3__
nor __4__.
Not for experimentation. Not for experience.
Dreams continue to haunt.
The weight of the down blanket blurs time and space.
The baby’s coo curls around the flannel-clothed legs.
Legs weighted of lead & location toss & tangle.
Mice scamper. Dawn declares victory over dusk.
Coffee & consumption of soiled sleep
continue to brew.
i never got to ask/answer _why_ to the man with the kind eyes
1: i first noticed your eyes as you consumed from a rectangular plate of circular eggs. two. three. four. scrambled. we were strangers. young. no more than twenty. and new to the city. eight fresh eggs stuffed in a booth made for four. chatter & clatter everywhere. forks kissed knives. knees knocked frayed denim hems. you spoke no words. your eyes spoke volumes. i tracked a maze of green & grey specks under wire-rimmed spectacles. consumed reflections of strong-willed oceans, loyal evergreen firs, & tombs of green eggs & ham.
2: you moved from eggs to bacon to home fries & somehow knew i was homesick but not for home. do you know what this is, you asked with a smile as your fork stroked then stoked a mysterious mound housed in a small bowl to the right of your plate.
3: i shook my head (curls capped of lavender acrylic, wrists scented of lilac) & you smiled. wide. it’s magic, you replied. a mystery stash. then offered me a taste and scribbled then stacked your claim on my heart. no need to try. all chambers suddenly stocked.
4: sweet. not sour. you swiftly swept me off my thrifted boots & took me on a multi-year-long tour of & thru city limits.
5: a doctor of words (from suess to shakespeare, silverstein to stein) & birds (from park bench corners to high rise owls). city haunts (uptown & downtown), and alphabets (streets & noodles). i never knew how magic was made/stewed/stirred/stamped. until i met you.
6: you built a house of jellies - grape, cherry, blueberry - & asked for my help. tiny plastic bricks soft on the inside. with a sturdy exterior. sweet, too. from there, we built our life in the city.
7: you’d wait for me. outside the library. in the lobby. on the landing. in all kinds of weather. always with a single flower, hand-picked in a city criticized for its overabundance (& overindulgence) of capitalistic greens (dollars, yen, shekels) and underabundance of natural greens (dandelion, mustard, broccoli). (y)our eyes perpetually evergreen / in full bloom.
8: (y)our hands perpetually busy / in full bloom. interlocked, in denim pockets. slips of paper in overcoat sleeves. sweet notes. hearts.bunnies.flowers.stringsofxoxoxoxox.airplanes.mouse ears.birds.home
9: you spent nights mixing drinks. & tossing greens (collard & kale). i spent nights mixing/making dreams. & chasing weeds (first wild. then wilder)
10: you taught me to dream & then i (inadvertently) dreamed bigger. I wish i knew why. outgrew our garden of eden (wild violets everywhere) & never realized the jeans no longer fit. i do not know why.
11: after a fistful of years & overgrown weeds in full bloom, i returned from a day out & a night of dreaming. i pressed play on the rectangular answering machine. a gift. when you worried. i need some space, i had whispered. at a volume meant for two. only a moment. in the lieu. the light blinked three. four. five times.
12: call. please. are you okay? the voice on the tape – yours – urged. i caught myself wondering. the same. wished i could snip & trim. time. tangles. testimony.
13: you knew me better than anyone, your kind eyes always watching, yet your voice revealed no knowledge & i gave no warning. nothing was okay. though no one ever asked why.
14: when i asked for my belongings, you complied. always patient. always professional. always present. always perfect. you never asked why.
15: i retrieved the four bags. ours then mine. trash yet nothing trashed. overstuffed & underappreciated. a cab waited – all engines running. all meters tabulating -- outside.
16: only later, did i see sticky note. the letters W.H.Y. scribbled. in/of/by your hand
On Why
i don’t know why. i ask myself the same. with the same unsatisfying answers. i don’t know why.
why does ___
& why does ___
i don’t know why
W.H.Y.
12 (plus) reasons to always ask __why___ even as / when the __window__ closes/door shuts
Dress up clothes comes in many designs (and with many destinies)
Ties twist in knots along with stomachs
Pepperoni & testimony come in rolls. Ready to be sliced & diced.
Rec rooms store more than toys. Ex’s too.
Trash and treasure share multiple letters. Even sticky notes fall & fade.
Unopened letters linger in small pockets of air between here & there.
Envelope seals are no match for broken hearts.
ER (& cosmetic) bags hold more than hearts.
Not only seals cry of pulses and patterns. Not all kisses are forever sealed.
Not all sitcoms have happy endings.
Not all unexpected endings are stained of sadness
Tenants and testaments turn over/of/on the hour.
i do not know why. still. i know why & try rhyme. eye & i, too. still. i’m glad we tried.
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