The other night I was prepping for a first date. I did my usual thing: shave, wash my hair, bath in nice-smelling oils. For some reason though, no matter how many face scrubs I used or eyebrows I plucked, I didn't feel quite pretty enough. Then I remembered: I'm a fucking human, and humans aren't always beautiful or polished. Sometimes we're smelly. Sometimes our bodies grow hair in places we don't like, or we have stretch marks, or cellulite. Scratch that, my body smells sometimes. And even better, I take up space. Lots of that. There's something a bit sexy about owning all that space you occupy.

Things are new now
I'm sending you home, tucked safely
Into covers in your little air mattress of a bed
Stuffed animals perched precariously at the edge
Looking over

I kissed your lips one last time
Tasting tears, I hope, the last time
Wiping snot on my jeans

You have a cat now
And a kitchen
And a beach
I think you'll be alright.

I brush these thoughts through my hair
Thinking, "Danika, be strong, be like Oya"
And laugh
I am so far from that

I give one last look to your little bedroom
And have to laugh at Trace's collection:
Dinosaur egg oatmeal, Lion King pillow, Tolkein books, geodes
His rainbow flag dangling off one hook dangerously above his sleeping mat
It's like a slumber party
And you
Two children, living side-by-side

I think you'll be fine
I know you'll be fine
And I'll be okay too.

I told her
This is never gonna work
We both feel too much
I need someone sturdy
who can support me like
nails, like scaffolding

But I tried that,
 and he's gone now
Our bodies
didn't quite fit
because he
Didn't want his

And I lay on the sofa
Cause I don't know which way I'm
gonna go from here
Don't know what I'm
gonna be for you
If anything

I got a letter

I got a letter in the mail from you today
I brushed the envelop across my mouth
It tastes just like it used to

The train was passing rickety through a cornfield. I was cradled in its arms, headphones pumping strains of Nirvana into my ears. My mouth went dry, watching a bird look back from above. I clutched the walkman in my claw, an arm wound like rope around my waist. In my right hand I held a tiny brown speckled shell, which I rolled over and over. I was on my way to Davis, sun setting slow like honey behind me.

Insect

Your carapace
I put it in a stone pestle
and crushed it to a fine powder
The words never left my lips
We never talked it out
I plucked you from my back
like a scarab beetle and pulled
off your wings; I wear you
round my neck like a prize

Day 1

His fingernails were torn, ragged. A nail file would do something of a job to right them but the trouble was deeper than that, and he knew it strongly. His mind was elsewhere- but wasn't it always? He hummed softly, letting his body rock in rhythm, and he stretched his arms backward, taking in the late afternoon sun. From his right he could smell jasmine, just opening up for nighttime, and he squinted his eyes against the sunlight. The sunscreen sprayed onto his arms and legs was sticky, and he rubbed his fingers along his thighs, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. The concrete was hard and unyielding beneath his spine. 

Toby heard a strange noise off in the distance, and he opened his eyes, rolling up onto his elbows. The far side of his backyard looked somehow dimmer, and yet a certain light had caught the leaves of his elm tree and the various particles floating in space and illuminated them softly in the setting sun. Curious, Toby rolled up onto his knees, his hands unconsciously rolling down his jeans. Was it his imagination, or did the flowers in that portion of the garden look brighter, more lively than they had minutes ago? And larger, too... Toby reached for the peach tree on his left and used it to come to his feet, rubbing his eyes all the while. 

As he approached the garden, Toby felt something like electricity in the air, and raised his eyes above the ground, momentarily getting lost in the mysterious haze. The smell of sunscreen seemed to be fading into the distance, and the flowers became almost overpowering... but in a subtle, gentle way that only such blossoms could induce. And there was something else- something he, living all his life in the middle of the country, couldn't quite place, and so he tucked into the back of his mind for later inspection. When he reached the garden, he had to steady himself, for what he saw next bemused and intrigued him to levels he had rarely experienced before. 

There was, directly before him, a simple wooden gate, its latch black and rusted, a gate that Toby had never seen before. It led on into a path lined with trees and crossed with vines, so thickly that it was difficult to distinguish through to the sky. Toby paused, his heart thumping madly in his chest, and then took the decisive steps forward to the gate. He undid the latch clumsily and stepped onto the path, looking around him with wonder. 

Svetlana sucks lemons across from me

Why was it that poor Ranna had to share a waiting room with such a sour-tempered girl? A girl who insisted on criticizing every article of his clothing, down from the red scarf tied tightly around his neck to the rain deer-decorated socks that peaked out from between his snow boots and too-short jeans? But Ranna knew she must be putting on airs. A girl like her, try as she might to conceal it, wouldn't go to a doctor like this if she had any sort of money. 

And I am progressing abominably

Dr. Kolokowski promised they would have covered more ground by the third week, but Ranna was seriously doubting his methods, though he wouldn't say so to either of his parents. His father paid well for his sessions, little though they had left to spend after Ranna's private school tuition- a fair 70% of his father's earnings went toward his education, as Ranna was reminded at every possible opportunity. 

And I do not know my own way to the sea

How many times before had he gone lost, trying to find his way home? His dad didn't really like him for that, but then, Ranna hadn't given him many reasons to forgive him for acting like an elderly man with an addled mind. How many nights Ranna had opened his bedroom window to frozen winds, sat out on the sill with his legs dangling over the edge and his bedroom door closed to keep out unwanted questions, and imagined he could feel the sea air on his face? 

But the saltiest sea knows its own way to me

Yes... A blue his eyes could get lost in for hours, days. Cliffs so scraggily no one would want to climb, white as his own face and dangerous and cold. Wind that clung to his face, droplets that stayed and dried as bits of salt, black tar on his feet. Then, beyond the clouds hanging low and the birds, mournful and hungry, he would see something, and it was like a truth, an unformed truth in his mouth. That was the point Dr. Kolokowski liked to so often focus on, because for one reason or another, he knew Ranna was hiding something.