• We never changed the channel. It was stuck there for months until father died. I said it wasn’t right but no one listened. No one listened to the weather man, either; and they wonder why we’re here now. Elijah would be able to tell you why, I know that.

    I don’t know a lot of things, but I know the channel never changed and my mother sang hymns…[Read more]

  • I like to pretend a poem is stable
    and that the words are the building blocks
    of life, or maybe they’re just thin, hollow
    cardboard boxes, patterned with bricks–
    the ones I used to play with outside
    of the counselor’s office.

    As a child, they let me stick my hand
    in the bottom drawer. I pulled out a reward
    each time, and they would…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, ringing 10 months ago

    The ringing always made me cry. Sal never cried; and the babies didn’t, either. Just me. And the watchers always came to our doorway and stood in it when I did. They spoke emphatically over the noise; broke into the atmosphere with their mouths, opening and closing like mourning glories in a time lapse, a race, an archive of utterance.

    For…[Read more]

  • She thought she could re-imagine the tumble into just the way it sounded, the softness of cashmere, weightless and spun into wrinkle-free perfection. How to re-shape the act’s harshness into smooth edges bringing refinement and not a violent dizziness and grass stains on her favorite Sunday dress.

  • As if the tumble was everything we
    had ever dreamed of–our falling like the confusion
    of waking in the moonlight; our features,
    shadows on the wall.

    And I forced my hands into tools and forged
    a new outline on the canvas, redefining you in silhouettes
    of the deepest contrast. Ready-made statue,
    you sat in stillness, awestruck.

    Years…[Read more]

  • His grandfather had lived near the seaside. He remembered visiting him during summer vacation with his family, before Greta had died, and before the seaside vacations became the grave side vacations. He said this, but he knew he was exaggerating it in his mind. He knew that they eventually became themselves again. His body could recall the the…[Read more]

  • It was the birth of a movement. It sprang forth from our own bodies, groping for sustenance and stumbling.

  • I learned to sway in the dining room. My mother taught me how to move just so; she taught me to shift my weight in the most mesmerizing way. It was to the tune of Glenn Miller on the gramophone; my father stood in the doorway and called me a looker. I didn’t know then what he meant, but I do now. I do now.

    When my mother said ‘sway,’ she always…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, mustard 11 months ago

    When he turned the page, his finger brushed the mustard stain at the bottom edge. At least that’s what he thought it might be; hoped it might be. This is what he hated about library books. He’d read them all his life but still, he just couldn’t get used to it. The book was practically tainted now; he knew that he’d feel the reverb of it on every…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, lack 11 months, 1 week ago

    The tree lacked all its branches. It was bare, except for a small leaf growing out of its trunk, about halfway up. The tree was the only one in the town and the people prayed to it.

    The town lacked all its trees. It was bare, except for a small tree growing out it, about a mile from the town center. The town was the only one in the country and…[Read more]

  • You harnessed the potential and you laid it out so beautifully. It’s hard to know how to get from here to there, she said. We all said something back. I don’t know what it was, though. Do you know what it was?

    I think that if we just pick up the pieces, gather them up in our aprons, we could make something divine, something covered in dust but…[Read more]

  • Steel plates shaped neatly around the every
    softness of our bodies, and this is
    how we do this.

    This is how we do this, ossified
    into structures too uncanny
    even for the humanities.

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, cello 12 months ago

    It’s my birthday and I wrote a whole long entry but it all got erased and I am far too lazy to re-write it. Basically–I have such kind and tender friends and I love them and they love me and that is so wonderful. And also, I spent the day doing homework and reading and it was peaceful–I’m reading Elizabeth Bishop’s letters and they are getting…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, swaying 1 year ago

    We look at ourselves in the mirror, our hands clasped tight, naked and swaying to Frankie Valli. We laugh and the sound scares the cat. We hug and the air almost lets us touch one another but then I’m twirling you out again, drawing you back. I watch you mouth the words until, again, you find my ear. The soft ‘it’s just to good to be’s’ before you…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, muddy 1 year ago

    Everything seems so muddy now. I remember when it used to be clear, used to make sense, used to be so immediate that you always knew to run. And we (I) love a good dichotomy, love the smooth edges and the way they don’t catch going down your throat.

    But this other stuff–the nuance, it just tastes like too much effort. Tastes like a mud pie…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, weave 1 year ago

    Can I weave myself into you before you even notice? Can I burrow into the spaces between everything you think about until you think of me too? I called it weaving and it’s a great metaphor, sure, but that makes it sound so intentional. Makes it sounds like we weren’t already cut from the same cloth anyway, like this isn’t just perfecting the…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, latch 1 year ago

    We latched on to it–the idea that we were never meant to be here. Drove ourselves out of the crowd, out of the studio; we knew this was the only way to live now.

    I looked over at Luce–hands on the wheel, half of her face in shadow, the other half, not my half, shining from the streetlights. She reached over me, pulling wet wipes from the…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, ornament 1 year ago

    His chest was heaving hard and I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. Mom was supposed to be home by now. But she wasn’t. Where was she?

    Looking through the bars of the staircase, I could see the living room in full view: a circle of broken ornaments with my father at the center–talking to himself, sipping from his whiskey glass. Roxy…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, ornament 1 year ago

    She bent down and picked up the hood ornament. It was bent beyond repair. Hopeless. Just like the rest of the shit he left her. Just like her life: broken off, laying in a pile of pavement bits, frost heaved and hazardous.

    She chucked it into the trees and heard it smack against a rock. After a few seconds, though, she felt so bad, she went…[Read more]

  • absolutelynthng commented on the post, pepper 1 year, 1 month ago

    Streaks of gray peppered her hair. No, shooting stars–Elizabeth Bishop and Lota and The Shampoo and the tenderness of your fingers in someone’s soapy hair, like a child, almost. Different, though. The tenderness of graying hair, the tenderness of aging lovers. Sometimes I don’t know why people are so afraid of their aging. I think, maybe, I’m…[Read more]