so says the straw hat

i call you this collection of letters and sounds these things define you they are you i gave you these names these building blocks of letters and lines same as i built you with atoms and genomes and nine months of brewing in this body of mine and yet, you are undeniably your own beyond your name beyond my molding beyond ideas you are your own fiery ignited, bright and soaring

I do not know how to process the loss of someone who was, who suddenly is not. Especially when they still should. Is there an appropriate amount of stillness that needs to be held, like a cup of coffee before taking the first sip? How does one know when it is ok for the wind to keep blowing, or the birds to chirp their morning song, or the day to break wide open and the sun to shine despite the fact that this person, who just was a face for the wind to blow fiercely or softly upon, who only yesterday heard the birds singing, whose body the sun also rose to greet, is now gone. Yet nothing stops. I blink again. The minutes pass. I can’t stop being or breathing, even in stillness the water ripples, the grass grows, the muscles around the lungs contract and the winds rush in. Your memory is a kindness, an adventure, long ago friendships and late night laughter. Maybe goodbye does not require a halt or a held pose, maybe it should not be a hard freeze. Maybe it is a pause, a well ...

The red lights of the walkway send messages across the wrinkled bedsheet river. A morse code of night secrets. Texas summer sits so heavy and still, like being held in the mouth of a stranger. It is warm enough to swim, quiet enough to whisper, late enough for reckless. You spelled w-a-n-t with the headlights off, your manners holding space between. My mouth grew restless, my teeth grew arms and legs, went looking for diamonds and pearls. The river didn't notice, continued downstream in silence, carried the memory of being licked by the lights.

Desperation snuck in with the bees. I woke up ugly every day for a year, venomous tongue. My shoulders were icebergs of 'don't touch.' There was no map for when our bed became an ocean so we used our pillows for flotation devices. Slept holding our breath. The bees were making a hive in your chest so we dreamed of sawmills and neon. We never knew, but every time your mouth opened the buzz was deafening.

I haven't done much writing for a long long time. I am following the prompts listed on 30/30 WXW website. I have already missed days. I am not going to worry about any of the rules. They are not really rules. This may be applicable to all of life. 1/30 August was a charged balloon. A thundercloud slung low knees buckling the valley, tongue panting wet with rain. August was stripped down, an empty valence shell. The bedsheets were freshly lonesome, though touch had vanished long before the body. I bought new sheets. I left the window open. Scuffed my boots on the dance floor searching for a faster wind. August was waiting for the hurricane's hangover to play orchestral greens and purples across a bulging Texas sky. I was flint and kerosene. Matchstick ready. One shot of whiskey and a dance floor. The wind up under my skirt going 70 past the yellow dashes and hot asphalt kissing skinned knees. White arms are midnight river snakes. Sex like murder. I wake...

All I want is a nice, clean, functional house. And to learn how to sew.

Cristin has perfect eyesight. She doesn't even like carrots! That is a lie, maybe. I do not know how she feels about carrots. I do know that she wants to wear glasses because inside of her grown ass accomplished woman self there is her little girl and inside her as a little girl there was an image of her grown as woman self and that lady wears glasses. Same as how all the nerds on TV wear glasses. Same as how wearing glasses makes you seem "smart." Cristin doesn't need to have glasses on to seem smart though. She knows about all kinds of things. Presidents. History. Probably the table of elements. Today I was driving home from work and on the radio they were talking about the race between Romney and that other guy and how they are now looking at competing against Obama and I had a question and I wanted to call Cristin. Then I remembered she doesn't wear glasses. No, that is not really why. I just figured I would google it later. Once, a teacher told me I was ver...

The day Baby X and Baby O were born (for my new nanny babies) On the morning of the day you were born a flight left the Austin airport at 6:30 am, headed toward Philly and her old liberty bell. On the morning of the day you were born, a beautiful woman served me a cup of coffee and talked clever at me so that later, while I was grading poetry submissions, I jotted down a few lines about how she was the kind of girl anybody would want to kiss below the bleachers just so they could keep that moment hot-lava and licorice secret behind the back of their tongues. On the morning of the day you were born your big brother was learning how to hold his ring and pinky fingers down with his thumb so he could have just two solid little fingers in the air. How a big boy counts his age. And we stood near the corner of the roof of Whole Foods down on 6th and Lamar and watched the noisy passenger train rattle off below. At story time, we bought a book for your big brother about being a New Big Br...

Austin, Texas. Spring falls out of the beaks of birds like a jungle. I wait below the oak trees just looking for the vines to start growing wild. When we drove down to Port Aransas for the very first time we took the 183 headed south and the land rolled out like a river bed. It was wildflower season and boy, did little LadyBird do us proud, all the colors sun-bursting their speckled beauty so the whole earth was the aftermath of an epic party. Every stalk of grass was a favored guest with a great big bag of confetti and all I wanted to do was marry that setting sun. Seattle, Washington Visiting the ice caves takes good guess work and weather charting. One must go late enough in spring that the snow on the ground is mostly melted, but early enough in the year that the caves are still worth marveling over. Once, we went too early in the spring; it found us falling waist deep into snow drifts,  laughing so we never got cold. I heard a river running nearby and was scared we w...

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by ...

Thirty-Six hours.  the rivers cut out stories and leave them behind.  the hills are slumbering giants. all the rocks will topple over sending out the ghosts of buffalo.  this desert puts me to sleep swaying shiny gold and white and brown.  there is a whispering in the wind.  outside of San Antonio it is 32 degrees we all shuffle off the train to stretch our legs, blinking new eyes and tired eyes against the freeze. people light cigarettes, hold their arms across their chests to shiver, survey the bushes with silence. the bushes do not stare back. everything is frozen.  I watch the sun rise over quivering hilltop, checking the landscape for a pulse.

I was going to write a post about how creepy permanent make-up is because I seriously imagine it giving me a Lady McBeth moment at the sink every morning, just me scrubbing furiously at my eyes in an attempt to get rid of my bad choices, becoming a stranger to myself, a shell of who I used to be...but instead, this: My husband, sister, brother and other-sister are all going together in Canada and they get to see D and Timmy and Ems and I am so jealous of the magic. I hope all their pretty little hearts get compressed straight away into tiny diamonds. A collaborative performance piece that combines the wonder-galloping poetry of Derrick Brown , the musical talent supreme of Timmy Straw and Emily Wells and a dance performance by the Dutch contemporary dance company Noord Nederlandse Dans. It is going to be magnificent. If you are in Vancouver CA or near Vancouver CA, you should go!

By Phillip Pullman I know I have always enjoyed reading YA fiction, but it has turned into pretty much all I am reading. I think I have husband to thank for that. Arguably, it is some of the most enjoyable literature out there, packed full of adventure, light-hearted lessons, empowerment of self...but here I am reading another YA fiction series. And I do not regret it. The Golden Compass is about a girl named Lyra, who lives in a world where all humans have daemons who serve as constant companions. She has an uncle who is an explorer, but she has no mother or father. Raised by scholars at Oxford, she has a tendency to not always listen to lectures, and often go places she may or may not be allowed to go. Sometimes this adventerous spirit of hers can get her into some trouble. But soon her adventerous spirit, through a series of seemingly accidental events and spur-of-the-moment decisions made by a child, turns into a battle for her, her daemon and her friends lives. Thou...

2009: The Year of the Bicycle I had a dream about a desert sky, a dusty road, some children climbing scrape-knees sticky-handed tree branches stretching thirsty for the deep red clouds. The simplicity of the kitchen. I did not know yet about love, but I could still dream it. Later I learned magic bicycle songs of the south, how to pronounce swimmin' hole, and how to carry heavy air like a blanket on summer skin. The storm that came was so fierce, my plane could not even come to take me away. 2010: The Year of Tin Trailers & Trains I tried to calculate how many boxcars could sit, end to end, and line up all the way from my trailer in Austin to your little pointed house in Portland. Sometimes those boxcars sat quietly and patient, open doors inviting exploration and adventure. Sometimes they would roll and cry, moving rusted wheels over rusted rails and all the doors on them were shut and I could not see inside. 2011: The Year of Piñatas Love subtracting...

The past month I have been eating a very restricted diet with hopes determining which, if any, foods I have negative reactions to. The diet also serves as an act of cleansing and starting to eat more whole and natural foods. I am loving it. Not only do I have more energy, my day feels more balanced, and my face/body/heart/lungs/brain feels happy, better, awesome. I usually feel like doing some cartwheels. It has been great. So far, I have three favorite recipes, one of which I will post below. The other two? Something to look forward to! Aren't we all on the edge of our seats now? 1) Nori Rolls: you will need: nori seaweed sheets (look in the "Asian" section/aisle of your local supermarket), carrots, green onions, avocado, cabbage and brown rice (preferably still warm). how to assemble: while brown rice is cooking, peel carrots and cut into thin long strips. Cut green onion, avocado and cabbage into long strips as well. When brown rice is done, take a Nori ...

In your brother's old bedroom there was a hole in the wall or a giant faded painting or writing.  Something I never really saw and you explained it once but I can no longer hold the story in my hands. We watched Animal House late one night in your bedroom when you used to sleep upstairs. It wasn't the version you usually saw on TV. I think the boobs made you feel uncomfortable when I was sitting right next to you. I don't know how late it was when I left. We were in high school then. When I turned 19 I stubbed my toe really bad in Canada on my first ever drinking binge. I remember ice cubes. You bought me a ring. I don't know if I got sick or not but the next day I didn't want to eat anything at all. We were supposed to leave but I decided I wanted to stay. When you dropped me off at my house in Bothell I wouldn't let you kiss me goodbye. When you moved downstairs I showed up once, 4am, pouring rain. I had a habit of doing that to you. Showing up just when...

Today, when I was trial-watching a pair of three-year-old twins (one girl, one boy) I asked them if they liked their "Tea-Tea" (their current nanny). The little boy looked at me very seriously and said "Yes. She is my best friend." And my heart melted. When my friend's baby K. talks he is speaking the incoherent tonal language of a 1-year-old. I listen very seriously. Sometimes he tells me jokes and then we belly laugh. Today we went to a park near his house and he befriended some five and six year old girls who carried him and pulled him around the whole place. He was loving it. And also a little confused by the whole thing. Me too!  My friend says she has never met anybody like me - who doesn't want to just spend some time away alone after spending the afternoon with a toddler. It is unusual. I want to use this year to recognize that my joy stems from being around and interacting with children. Some people are born to race cars or be acrobats ...

By Herve Bouchard Illustrations by Janice Nadeau This is a short graphic novel about two boys experiencing their fathers death. It is written from the point of view of the older, smaller brother. It seems he is not very well liked, but without any particular reason. He loves a character named Scott Carey...I cannot figure if this is a fictional person or a real athlete or movie star or what. The book has beautiful illustrations and is a pretty and lovely story that manages to show a little about how families and people deal with death, with children, and how strange death can be to a child. Really do check out Janice Nadeau's site--her work is so soft and pretty. In this book it is used particularly well to help emphasize the feelings of loneliness and loss, particularly in one sequence where each page shows more and more people walking away from the scene of tragedy until finally nobody is left but the poor heartbroken mother. On her website, under the books tab, you can ta...

By David Sedaris First, a simple praise to the library for allowing me to read all these books I would have probably not purchased on my own. Now, I have long known, loved, appreciated the library but in the two years since I moved to Austin something has been amiss. Somehow (constantly changing addresses, bizarre branch hours, no texas ID) every time I went to the library I did not manage to get a library card. I still read books. Kindle books and Anis books and bought books and borrowed books. But I did not have the freedom of just taking, giving back, and taking some more. And now that I am back in the library game I can officially say it was a sorely missed part of my life. Once, my friend Jon said sex was like a strange beast that you never really missed when you were not having it (he might be the only guy I know that feels that way about sex) but once you were having it you just wanted it ALL THE TIME. That is how I feel about the library. Alright. This books is an odd little...

I am on day 10 of 28 day elimination diet to figure out if I have allergic or other reactions to food...So far so good. Phase 1 is really limited, and really delicious. Packed with veggies and fruits and more veggies. More Kale please! Put it in a smoothie! Put it in my brown rice! Put it in my salad! Yum. That was a pretty bad chant about Kale. I hope you loved it. Look at this delicious and healthy soup I am so excited to make! I will take and post pictures when it is done. For now, here is a picture of UNHEALTHY but DELICIOUS things I sometimes make. It is fun to put pictures in my blog. Just given y'all something to look at.  These were girl scout and fruit inspired dark chocolate cupcakes I made for fun a long while back. Orange, "Grasshopper" or mint, "Tag-Alongs" or Peanut Butter and Strawberry. They were tastier than they looked. Anlo, a known cupcake critic was so excited about them he seriously wanted me to open my own business. The next time I...