I keep daydreaming of a movie I once saw; a mother lovingly brushing her young girl’s long hair; I cant remember any other scenes but I don’t think I made it up either; I don’t know motherly love as such tenderness
springironwritings asked: I am in love with your gorgeous prose.
Oh thank you so much for these words!! Sending good thoughts your way
an excerpt from Soso’s journal
By: Ana O.
He said I was a faulty break pedal
;that my saliva was iridescent with regret
;that it made our kissing inadequate
;that our kissing was consonant to four angels
smacking their gum before school detention
;that he lost his taste for meat for two months
after the first time our tongues touched
;that my aura isn’t muddy nor spit on
;that it is dim because it was my veins that were glowing
;that they were drowned in his light
;that I performed an absolute blood transfusion on him
in the span of the first hours that we had met by just looking at him
;that the invasive nature of my cells spread down his throat and left
patches of raw skin that burned when I breathed hot into his mouth
;that the winter stung in his nostrils the same way trying to avoid any
thought of me gave him nosebleeds
;that any thought of me gave him goosebumps on the back
of his hips that spelled my last name in Braille
(all i heard was the thud of a body falling to the ground)
The psychiatrist’s folder with Adia’s name on it (pt 1)
By: Ana O.
Tell me a smell. Anemia. Another one. Bulimia. Tell me a color.
White. A stimulant. White. A number. Ten milligrams. Tell me a
noise. Doorknobs. Another one. Sticky’s purring. Tell me a time.
Four days in the psych ward. A taste. Anemia. Aonther one. Bulimia
Tell me a place. All the closets in the house my mom grew up in.
Tell me a smell. The smoke of the fire that ate said house.
By: Ana O.
(ten days before
/on the kitchen table/
in small handwriting)
after ten minutes of not being able to
find a lighter that wasn’t empty Soso
and I got high at noon and found Adia’s
laughter in the air vents of the laundry
room. it sounded yellow. i’ll bring some
extra lighters for you next time.
how come you forgot to tell me you
were going by the restaurant? kiss
Sticky for me
By: Ana O.
Eva finds a strand of thin blonde hair on a piece of expensive cheesecake and wishes death on the numbness Adia began snorting last september. Remembering her anemic hands holding pieces of dry hair in a tight fist, the pie crust tastes too bitter. She orders a slice of their cheapest dessert, angel cake, and tries to forget Adia’s phone number.
Soleila, in a sloppy ponytail and torn underwear, tucks a letter written in lipstick under a queen-sized bed. Looks at her stretch marks, names the thickest ones after freddie mercury songs and leaves her beat up shoes in the Arizona desert. By the time she is sitting across from Eva she can’t remember if the letter was written to god, her drug dealer, or her manicurist. She eats the leftover cheesecake quickly without having to think of the taste, says she has to visit Melia and pulls a strand of hair from her mouth after saying goodbye.
Melia hasn’t brushed her hair since the last time Adia spent the night and borrowed her comb. “She isn’t a blonde anymore, you know?” She knows Soleila couldn’t be sure of that and turns the music up. After a half hour of drinking scotch out the bottle she steps on an ashtray and remembers a throaty laugh. She didn’t know specific memories could reside in unfocused eyes and realizes she has been crying since she thought of unclogging her sink.
Adia kept a lighter on her at all times; one in her purse and a mini one in her make up bag, two in her car, and the occasional extra one in her back pocket. They have started leaking and Melia thinks that’s why her cat, Sticky, has been hissing at the house plants. In fact, the reason is the jacket hung in the closet under the stairs that smells like the dish soap in Adia’s kitchen. Death remains impending a thousand five hundred and thirty two miles away.
(I’m not sure I pronounced everything right because I’m stoned and my tongue remembered english isn’t my first language)
This is adolescence and
this is how the final summer goes:
lightning seven seconds thunder.
It hurts like Del Rey and Antigua—like
God with shut eyes
(palm trees, coyotes, vertebrae snapping)—
with glass bottles and ripped rubber and
balloons bursting blood.
It hurts at sixteen and sixty-one;
your mother told you this already, girl,
you should have been prepared.
When it hits you you will reach enlightenment—
you will realize you’ve eaten all the boys
and all the other girls
and you will burn like Carthage
—Curie & Plath—
swishing ions & iambs in your mouth,
vomiting vodka into the sink—
becoming a woman before you can think.
some nights boys touch girls
but mostly they touch themselves
jamming tissues into underwear and
breathing novels into telephone static
the way their parents wish they did
back in summer ‘56. in august when
the mermaids slip away the boys run wild
into an orchard of stars, rivers of blood
and milk, blue silk sky,
shots of cheap liquor on a Friday night.
it wasn’t this way a decade ago
it won’t be like this again it’s weird how
boys these days are islands:
they split away they float aimlessly and you can never
bring them back.
A Silvio le faltaba el dedo meñique de la mano izquierda
y en los domingos contaba las hojas de el limonero en el patio
de la catedral en la esquina de Lopez Mateos y la segunda.
Los Jueves, cuando salía de la clase de rezos,
con la biblia abajo del brazo derecho y la blusa abrochada
hasta el cuello y los zapatos lustrados y negros,
se sentaba debajo de el almendro en el parque de su
escuela y contaba las semillas caídas en el lodo.
No le digas a nadie,
Silvio esta estudiando los árboles
para que le crezca el dedo como sus flores.
Do you remember the day the gypsies came through town?
I dreamt of a purple hill each night since then,
found red wild seeds in my tea,
sang with the morning birds, and
realized I had no memory of your face.
The day the gypsies came through town
you were coughing up regret and blood,
lying to yourself about your old bible,
crying salty toxic tears, and in all your memories
they replaced all those teethy smiles
with flowers on their faces.