Black T-Shirt

Dear post nap,

Read Acts 1-24 of the NLT study bible.

Shower.

Teeth.

Metropolitan wheat bottle.

Hummus.

Late night talk shows.

Check the tabs.

Click the tunes.

Fuck acts 26-28.

Take his coat.

Kiss the cat.

Folk the music.

Talk about Bloomington.

Hard day.

Me too.

Not that bad.

Sink into the navy blue couch that we've affectionately nick named old brown.

Watch his eyes slam shut beside you.

Turn down the music.

Peel the cat off the remaining hummus.

Go way back.

They say to just go back when you can't get to the rest place.

When you're procrastinating moving us to the bed because you don't want to clean the hummus.

All the way back to the incubator.

Wonder how much you felt.

Or if it was invisible like Freida's bus ride.

Just lie still.

In and out.

Out and down.

Lungs without pressure.

Plastic boxes without fathers.

How long was I in there?

Just me, my in, my out, my down, and my through.

Linda says two months.

So, I'll never know.

She was sent home, but I stayed.

And she says she visited me every day for a few hours.

So, I'll never know.

Wonder if I thought of giving up.

Clearly didn't.

Come far.

Deep,

Skin and Toast

Watching Them Sleep

Dear Anne Lamott,

I tried.

I waited for the bus.

She sat down.

And I waited for her to say something.

Someone had to say something, we were the only two people in the world.

Sometimes God is in the bathrooms you always say.

So sometimes the garden is in the campus,

And the temptation is in the charcoal chicken delights.

Oh, something something weather weather fifteen twenty yadda yadda yadda yadda, oh sure.

Then she handed me the usual Jesus pamphlet, and I folded it into the Southwestern earth crafted lady purse that hung like a shield across the breath and the depth of me.

I decided to listen to her. She was talking about the war. And I opted out of the palm Sunday service this morning. And we were the only two people in the world.

Then she asked me if I went to school here, North Park's back drop was stapled behind us unevenly and two toned, in banners and score boards.

Uh, oh.

Don't ask me to quote the bible with you. I'm not like that. I'm more Anne Lamott then John the Baptist. I'm here to listen.

Close call. Dodged that one. She was out of literature and JUST wanted to know what I was studying.

Creative writing.

Yadda Yadda good for you honey you a freshman? yadda yadda. Oh I see yadda yadda.

What do you want to do? Or where do you see yourself?.....Picture?......It was that question......But, the wind was picking up and it was hard to hear.....?

Be a writer.

Declarative statement for a change.

Pause.

Oh, OK, you JUST wanna be a writer, OK.

Pause.

They have the best chicken over there! (She said). (With a smile).

It's true, Charcoal Delights is sinful.

Grace (eventually),

Skin and Toast and Gumption

List

Dear so far today,

5am, Bucks.

12:30pm, end Bucks.

Then up until now, rapture.

Coming up right now, attendance of Sacred Heart Middle school's production of The Wizard of Oz.

Much later, full reflection.

Thank you so very so,

Skin and Toast and Pettest of your pets

I Wish I Knew

Dear Linda,

You know,

I think,

In some ways,

Children need their parents more at the age of 28,

Then they do at the age of 8.

Am I wrong?

Usually,

Yes.

Completely wrong.

Spent another afternoon in the college bathroom, stuck, so to speak.

Paralyzed.

The teacher wanted to talk to me.

That's never a good sign.

Falling rock.

Dead end.

Wisconsin.

He did that thing that people do,

That lip thing, that thing that makes their lips tight around the corners,

But, slightly parted in the center,

And it usually involves a shaking of the head,

A shake of despair,

Of waste of time.

I would have rather been at the gynecologist.

The first time.

When they took my blood.

And gave me an ultra sound.

And told me it wasn't the child of God.

And laughed.

They laughed at me.

They laughed so hard I felt their breath on my exposed genitals.

When did I ever imply that I ever thought it was the child of God?

Did they think I thought it was the child of God?

Or were they actually making a joke?

Joke.

The teacher asked me if I was trying to be funny.

I'm never trying to be funny.

That's why it's funny.

I'm hysterical naked.

Scoot down.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.

By the way,

Jenny, the neighbor, was in the waiting room.

In your place.

In seventh grade,

when my periods were regular,

You used to brag to sister #3, over the phone,

"Josephine works so hard,

She starts her homework at three in the afternoon,

And when I get up at three in the morning to go to the bathroom,

She's still working"!

First of all,

you were vomiting in the bathroom,

Second, the other kids finished their homework before dinner time.

And third, they ate dinner.

Anyway, I've been working on a paper all day,

And I feel much better.

Just keep working and never give up,

Just like you never told me.

Friend boy's been helping me all day with the footnotes and the hot totty "t" crosses,

Egg frys, and floor sweeps,

Not in your place.

In our place.

But, I do like Joan Baez. Still. Oh! Follow the bouncing ball. Please come to Boston in the spring time-- the night they drove ol' Dixie down la la la--

gets me every time.

Almost time to switch over to iced coffee.

But, not quite.

On my back,

Skin and Toast

Spring Fling

Dear Showers,

Oh my God,

You'll never guess,

Oh my God,

You're gonna flip out!

Oh, my, Gawd!!!!!

Wash that mud mask right off of your phat lil' face cheeks right now, oh my God!

I mean, the hair,

and the shoes,

and the music,

It was like,

Oh my god,

Perfect!

And the flowers...! Don't get me started.

I know, it's amazing.

Oh-My-Lanta!!!!!

Sit down.

Well,

I had some left over potato soup from the middle eastern bakery,

and three wilted carnations in a milk glass vase were catching the afternoon sun.

And some promising merge artists were wailing from the free standing Sony device.

And he was watching his adult cartoons in the next room, at an appropriate volume.

And I was wearing jeans,

and muddy chucks,

and an ivory tank top that accentuated my Germanic profile.

Then,

I heated the soup with the one working burner. And the one wooden spoon.

It was UPS yellow,

and vampire garlic.

It took like, fifteen minutes to get it, like, piping hot.

Oh, my God!

Then I poured the soup into two bowls,

and in the process I spilled a little on the counter and decided not to clean it up,

I stared at it for a moment and thought about how much money I had in my checking account.

Then I took the two bowls of soup,

two spoons,

and two napkins,

out to the coffee table for the two of us to share.

And then,

get this,

he looked right at me and said:

"You shouldn't have".

Can you believe it!

Oh, my God.

It's what we always dreamed of!

Peace Out,

Skin and Toast

Half Of Me

Dear Kool,

We were so cool with our American Girl dolls and our side pony tails.

We made so many promises long dissolved into the bright red sugar tumblers.

We played war with cards and polished with nails.

You wont see me with a manicure this side of life ever again.

Some where a long the spectrum a switch went off inside of me,

I don't think I've worn high heels since I was nine.

But,

I

will

never

commit

to

the

amount

of time

and school

it would

take

to be

a judge.

I don't judge!

Now you have an American helpless kicking you in the ribs.

Now you have a house.

Presumably with windows.

I just like to see it in word formation.

There's no subtext.

I swear on my pinky you precious lipstick secret.

When you crawl through tunnels under Massachusetts

public parks

with someone every summer away for the most of under fifteen,

It becomes rather noteworthy,

rather down the spout of those ricola contraptions,

rather something to stop for,

and count to three completely before accelerating for.

It's big.

It's an extra breath on the yoga mat tomorrow.

I promise never to compare.

I promise always to be different.

And there.

Not that I ever noticed you were only half of me or anything,

I never cared that my dad wasn't your grandpa.

Or that my brother's have never met you.

I swear none of this ever mattered or married or carried away the way you hugged me that night.

Or helped me with science.

Sometimes my arms got tired holding it all up,

but I also should have eaten something other then the clear Pepsi your father,

my brother-in-law,

kept locked up under the sink.

I have to give a poetry presentation in one of my lit classes.

I wish I could just play pearl jam and describe your hands,

how even though the hard parts lacquered pink sparkles,

the sand from the box still pours from the tips now peeking through blazers and cuffs linked

to eggs without shells

that hatch

in the heat

of

your

life/tunnel/sugar bowl.

kiss it.

Always,

Skin and Toast and Lunch Money

This is where they met.

Dear Dorothy and Abraham,

Thank you for taking care of me all those years.

I can't thank you enough,

Literally,

I can't thank you,

Every time I try, you press finger's to lips, and pass the dumplings.

And flip the record.

And tune the Yuke,

And face the something on the red and blue tapestry to pray to something in another language.

That's why I picked Bloomington as my favorite vacation spot.

Because I know that that's where you met,

And fell in love,

And married,

And had a baby,

Right here,

On this soil.

And you still,

Live in a house,

Together,

It hasn't crumbled,

It hasn't sunk into the ether of too young,

Or too tired.

I know I know nothing is perfect.

But,

Bloomington,

Is.

It's epic.

Everyone should go here.

Hall ah french toast and clean sheets.

Girls in skirts with dirty bags.

Dwellings with chimneys.

And napkins with unincorporated butter pads.

Live music and breweries.

NIU was not like this.

NIU was the seventh floor of Michael Reese compared to this.

I should have listened to you.

On all other subjects I had my drinking glass glued to the thatch of the roof.

Next time.

By the way,

My next idea is to be a speech pathologist.

If you approve.

This is a universe.

This is my parents when they were young.

This is the scene in the kitchen.

This is the absence of poetry.

Yours across the courtyard,

Skin and Toast.