Tag Archives: summer

What summer was like

The backseat of my

grandfather’s Lincoln

smelled of warm leather

always saltwater

even folded into his

sloping

Mayfair driveway.

 

Two weeks of

washing with generic

soap bars

and his skin still

made me think of

hard work, cedar,

sandpaper.

 

The name inked

on his shoulder

his own

drooped and faded

quietly like the

sea memories

of a sailor.

 

They packed away

the soap and

I rolled up the

windows in the

Lincoln so I wouldn’t

forget

what summer was like.

 

I curve my hands

now

around the steering

wheel,

around his shoulders,

I press my forehead

to his happiness.

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i hiked mountains made of you

at fifteen i had fifteen reasons to love you. our bodies moved like broken caterpillars our mouths reached out like children we knew only texture, only colors, the sounds good things make.  your fingertips knew more than i knew of my own self i swore we were ancient, carved into slants and shapes that jigsawed perfectly, there was something we discovered only when our mouths touched when words hung above our heads like clouds when we reached out and traced constellations in our skin and we were fading and no one saw.  for a time i disappeared and every day was summer, butterflies escaped my shoulder blades i searched breathing pathways with the light blooming from my eyes i was barefoot even when i wasn’t i grew branches that covered me and  gave me rest i sprouted blades of grass where my hair should be i hiked mountains made of you, we lay always touching, always facing the same way. i wasn’t me i was yours, i was fifteen years of predictable science melting in thin arms. fifteen is funny that way.

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Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

Lazy Days

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My summer has had a few running themes: fitness, Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, video games, adult beverages, mountains, some iced tea-unsweetened-pink-lemonade thing of pure deliciousness from Starbucks, and time spent lounging with my Joe.

So where’s the writing?

I go through phases. Last month was spent perfecting a short story, making list after list of upcoming contests, feeling purely motivated to grab my passion by the horns and do some serious work. This month? “I’ll get to it, I’ll get to it, I’m writing today, wait no tomorrow, well maybe Thursday.”

And like in the days before I had acquired the motivation to get my butt out of bed and go for a run, or kick box, or dance my face off in Zumba, instead of just doing it I whine and complain that I haven’t gotten anything done. Yeah yeah, it’s pathetic, I know.

In a way, I’m still that person craving the results – imagining them, even – but never making the move to throw on her running shoes.

And so – as I am here now, a 5k finished for the day, plenty of time to spare, whining complete – I think it’s time to get something done.

A writer who doesn’t write? I think it’s time to remind myself of what is most important to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Fitness, Writing