thatnicolechick.com

life would be so much easier if i knew exactly which bridges to burn, which bridges to cross, and which bridges had a troll living below them.

wake

the box is pale blue
smooth
and inside
a plastic looking man
who i swear i’ve never met

the room is filled with strangers
all who seem to remember
the day i was born
or who tell me
“you’ve got your father’s eyes”

the lights are too bright
and my head is pounding
across the room
my mother is nodding
maybe she understands something i don’t

and that’s all i can see
through the water in my eyes

circa 2003

drawing love

when I was six
I drew love
like it was easy

two stick people
smiling up from their home
on a piece of construction paper

little lines meant
for little arms connected
to show they were holding hands

a crooked red heart
carefully shaded above their heads
because love was always red

when I was four
I drew love
like it really was

just the crooked heart
heavy red marks
bursting out of the lines

12/08/04

the Lepidopterist

he looked around at his collection, priding himself on the pieces collected over the years.  one with an understated beauty.  another with vibrant colors.  a third which was so rare he could hardly believe his luck.  all boxes were his own.  his life’s work.  a deliberate exercise in preservation.

his first had been from new england.  he had been fourteen and had absolutely no experience with anything.  he was sitting on a rickety porch swing with sweaty palms, waiting on a girl who may or may not have been the girl of his dreams.  as he waited he noticed it by the porch light.  jerking up and down, no real grace about the movement, but he was fascinated.  it was rather plain, a muted grey, and certainly nothing he would have chosen today, now that he was more knowledgeable.

he was short for his age and had a bit of trouble catching it.  he had to jump up and down a bit, but after about five minutes he clapped his hands together, trapping the moth inside of them.  a wing was injured, but he didn’t care.  this was his first, and when something is your first, you don’t really notice things like that.

he put his find in a safe place, on the upper ledge of a window frame, and hoped the summer breeze wouldn’t blow it down.  the girl came along shortly after and they were on their way.  the next morning he remembered and found the moth.  it was still there.

he spent that afternoon carefully pinning the moth into a shadow box he had purchased at a craft store up the road.  when the final pin was in place, he admired his work.  for not knowing what he was doing, he thought he did pretty well.

now he has countless boxes.  each one a protective cocoon for the object inside.  each one more carefully preserved and more carefully selected than the last.  but that’s to be expected.  that’s what you get with experience.

i’m not always there when you call, but i’m always on time

me:  do you use ichat?

lynda:  yes, i use ichat.

me:  can you not have yourself on your buddy list?

lynda:  i don’t know.  i’ve never done that.

me:  man, i like to see myself on my buddy list.

lynda:  haha, why do you want to see yourself?

me:  that way someone is always online.

lynda:  well you always have anthony.  at night, anyway.

they need a reality show

my parents are nuts.  i want them to have their own reality show so the general public can be exposed to their antics.

my mom and i went shopping today.  in the garden section she decided it was a good time to start dancing.  she was shaking her booty like crazy until a worker came into the aisle and caught her.

later today, after jim reading a 5-minute tutorial on how to play poker:

me:  you know how to play?

jim:  well, i got the jist of it, but it’s kind of like going to practice law after watching an episode of matlock on mute.  i’m not quite there yet.

Tvätt Dag (Laundry Day)

Tvätt Dag (Laundry Day)

He left on Sunday.
Laundry Day.
Somewhere in between my sedated state
and the first traces of morning,
he had collected his things
and gone.

It had been planned for some time.
His departure.
I thought I would be okay,
because he was going home
and I didn’t care
that much.

Still, I laid in bed all day,
enveloped in the dingy white
of my well-worn bedding.

I glanced around the room
hoping to find some remainder
he left behind.
Even the glass of water
he left on the nightstand weeks ago,
the one I kept nagging about,
was gone.

I buried my face in the pillow,
hoping to suffocate myself
in his signature scent,
subtle keynotes of testosterone,
sweat and aftershave,
neglecting my dirty laundry,
and the pillowcases
that were sprinkled with strands
of his long, black hair.

——————————————

well, it seems i’ve got no direction when it comes to blogging.  which is just an extension of how i’m feeling in every facet of my life.  but i am hopeful this is about to change.  stay positive, that’s what i’m going to do.  i just haven’t started yet.