Woke up, hair all over my lap and a black plastic apron noose-tight around my neck. It took a moment to focus on the mirror and see that my head was shaved. Spent years growing the hair and now it was chopped down like a tree. I see the Greek letters painted across the apron. Duct-taped to the barber’s chair, the metallic tape reflected speckles of light which bounced from ceiling to mirror like a disco ball. I was naked, could feel the apron rubbing against my skin. The room stank; not just of debauchery, something sicker. I’d soiled myself.
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Last time I went to the gynecologist, he inserted something warm and stiff into my nether regions. Some will claim it’s all part of the exam; I say he tried to knock me up. The speculum is usually cold. Perhaps my doctor didn’t try to get me pregnant, but he did ask when I wanted to have a baby. He was insistent, not because I was getting old (I’m 32), but because my ovaries have problems. I have polycystic ovarian syndrome, which sounds scary until you talk to your girlfriends and find out (most) everyone has it – your cousin, The coat was all I took. It wasn’t even a nice coat, an attractive coat, a coat that people would admire, want to wear or want to own. It was just a coat. Thick with sheepskin, drenched with the smell of home. I never got the chance to say goodbye, but I did get a split lip and a hand job on the Greyhound bus to the city. On my first day I made $7.25 by not asking for money. I ate a six inch Subway sandwich and drank a coke. Though you couldn’t tell by looking at me, I Listen to a podcast of Shane Cohn’s “Não há Antídoto para Esse Veneno.” Next mistake: I decide to actually tell her—that I got her sister pregnant. I brought out the Teacher’s Whiskey, and had her sit with me on the floor. We had a few. She started telling me that we should probably stop drinking like this. I asked her if she would like to move up to the table. But that wasn’t what she meant. She meant how we were killing ourselves or something. Just then I remembered this phrase from our Portuguese phrase book—we used to try to » Continue reading “Não há Antídoto para Esse Veneno.” by Shane Cohn… A Kindergarten Poem i wAsh MY hAnds AftER artAnD wAit foR schOOL to sTarttHe sky iS bLuethE wiNd is cooL a cOw sAys MOO! MOO!aNd i start scHooli gO pLay WiTh mY fRiends aT thE plAyGroUnd tO havE FUNwAiting fOr sCHool tO eNdi’M almOst doNe thiS iS mY kInDerGARten poEm fOr MY heAd tO kEEp aT niGhT i’LL dReam oF beArs and raBBits iN mY hoMei’Ll BE in my beD, reAdy tO slEEP. Rejections and 3 lies “You’re too young for me”“You’re too old for me”“I’m already have a boyfriend and a girlfriend”“I’m busy tomorrow and this weekend”“I don’t really RIDING THE RTD BUS DOWN CRENSHAW muh is mixing the white flaky carnation powder with cold tap waterhere use this for you and your brother’s cereal i refuse itimitation milk is not natural muh stops to get ed a red jelly filled donuti get the glazed then she shuffles us onto the rtd buswe savor the taste of the donuts but really we are just happy to be with herand it doesn’t matter that the fbi is a lurkin’and it doesn’t matter that we are nearly brokeand it doesn’t matter that muh carries the beat downs/scars from men on 2029 I was sitting in my computer room with Samwhen I suddenly saw that it was 1 p.m.Immediately I became hungry,so I hit “lunch” on my iHome,but nothing happened. So I hit “lunch” again.Again, nothing happened. I had it set to “chicken sandwich.”I figured maybe it was out of chickens,so I changed it to “tuna sandwich”and hit lunch a third time.Again, nothing happened, and Sam told me that fishhad gone extinct last Tuesday(he checked it on his BlackBerry)so I changed it to “egg sandwich”and hit lunch one more time.Nothing happened. At this point, I was starving.I felt like I could Listen to a podcast of Ellyette Sakas’ “the sound” The gravitational pull was relentless, leaving bent trees and overturned cars in its wake.The all consuming rush of wind and sandthat stung our eyeballs and choked up our throats. i could not see youi could hear you You needed me to kiss your scars,the half-moon reminders of an intangible existence. You needed me… to tie up the pain in a little paper bag and throw it into the white crested waves.we watched it toss and sink slowly,diaphanous, insignificant and I will kiss you softly, like I did |
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