Pull old notebooks out

to seek inspiration

in the printed

cursive words

sheets of paper

blue and black ink charting

emotions with

penmanship

that moves with

the frequency of once-

importance

shifting from clean, clear

to ragged, jagged

tight and loose.

—-

The last Monday in New York City

Sipping green tea

with a ginger twist

looking outward

and notice

when I don’t wear my contacts

I feel partially invisible

and I wonder if

I would be any good

at writing fiction.

 

I ran the Boston Marathon

And you know

I prefer the sidelines

of Heartbreak Hill

and

I am underwhelmed

with a time of 3:24

and my feet hurt

like a bitch.

 

On May tenth

that year

I want to be beautiful

again.

 

On July nineteenth

I remind myself

I am beautiful.

I remind myself

I am strong.

I am personable, fun.

I am intelligent.

I am more than what the others

perceive me

to be.

 

The next year

I load a truck

with all my things.

People say,

you are so brave.

and I want to be–

brave that is.

And I don’t want easy

for the sake of easy.

 

Coffee in a cup.

A young dad sits

in the booth next to me

on a chilled February

day

side-by-side with a boy:

gives a side hug

a kiss on the ear

ruffles his hair

like they do in the movies.

 

I went to his show

got drunk

and wrote a love note*

on my phone

as he drove me home.

With him I can stay

in my soft places

I don’t have to

struggle

with ferocity.

I realize

I have broken down

completely

so that I may be

rebuilt.

—–

There they were

the printed

cursive words

sheets of paper

the blue and black ink charting

emotions with a

penmanship

that moves with

the frequency of once-

importance

slipping

away

into the dusty

prickled corners

of memory.

 

———

 

* A Drunk Love Note from a Car ride Home in Minneapolis: 

‘Do you love me?’

You think

with a glitter of your glanced eye

and I sit back

in the passenger seat.

I respond

with my eyes:

I love

more than I can say

to you

tonight.

 

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