1. Our mother calls me to come and look at her. That is how we begin. “Say something,” she says. She tries to sound petulant, but her image in the full-length mirror makes her smile. “A sheath,” I offer, cross-legged on the floor. I hold a pillow on my lap despite the heat.
for Lawrence King, 1992-2007 Teens bully deans, bash desks like Queens christen ships,
We were seventeen when I paid for my best friend’s abortion, helped answer the doctor’s questions,
We celebrate New Year’s Eve in San Salvador, city of hammocks,
I was right in the middle of a late-night rush in the deli when Jeffers, one of our regulars, came slamming in like a lion late for a feeding. Most of our regulars are a pain to be sure, but Jeffers is in his own category. He’s hairy all over with this crazy-looking, giant beard…
“Are they real, Mommy?” My daughter was staring at my bare breasts one morning last month as I got dressed for work. The incisions from my double mastectomy were quiet now, having faded to a mildly aggravated pink over the past six years since my surgeries.
July 2nd, 2008. Truth be told, I’ve never been much good at remembering what the date is. Of course this affliction is exacerbated in L.A., where the seasons are vague at best, and I’m hard pressed to know what month it is let alone one of its numbers.
A little of this, a dab that,
The sound of our footsteps echoed through the hall. Dozens of faces too ill to smile stared at us as we tried not to look into their rooms. Hushed conversations mingled with the odors of Lysol, bleach and fresh flowers. We arrived at our destination.
You’re waiting for your best friend, Pablo Perez, to call. His father’s recently put in a pool, and you’re hoping for an invite. It’s already past noon, and no call, so the Poor Man’s Jacuzzi becomes your sanctuary, your oasis, on a hot afternoon.
Shielded from a westward sun that could burn Through ripply glass circa 1899 Mandy the puppy buried open, no urn Covered above in sweet pea vine
As a dandelion In Her Majesty’s lawn
I am scared to step over the edge of the pier I tell myself When I get there I will be happier When I get there I won’t remember feeling bad
They were too overwhelmed by the sight of decaled media vans and fiending paparazzi rising up the hillside, one cocked elbow at a time. A man from Hong Kong, along with a woman from Denmark and a teenager from Paramus, New Jersey all watched the spectacle from their cell phones as they each spent one…
See the crane sleeping It’s neck sways when the wind blows Please don’t fall on me Homeless Jack mines gems
Instead of thinking about Sonny, his traveling companion wishes she were in Spain. How far of a drive is it from Granada to Barcelona? Twenty miles south of Fresno a sign says Visalia 24 miles. Sonny pilots the car with dirty hands, a torn shirt, an unintentional beard, last…