Body, she’s me.
Shadow, that’s mine.
Her ample arms
fluffy marshmallowy white
embrace you.
A soft hug that reminds you
of what you’ve been meaning to remember.
I was there.
At the beach, she’s as big as the ocean.
her sandy thighs ripple like waves
as she drops to the ground and crosses her legs.
She engulfs the shadows of seagulls.
I swallow the scene.
That’s her & me.
I’ve been in California a couple months now, and it’s been an unbelievably slow acclimation. It’s not something I understand consciously—I can’t point to anything that’s been “wrong.” I just knew I didn’t feel right yet and that I had to be patient with myself.
Continue reading “Allow me to introduce myself”Today was my last session with Laura, the amazing therapist I’ve been working with since 2015. We knew that we went as far as we could go together. I have new hills to climb, and I may need a new partner to help me get there. (More specifically, I want to focus on my recovery from diet- and body-related trauma with an ED specialist.)
Continue reading “Reflections on “doing the work””Mad
belly,
shaking volcano.
Laughing
moves earth,
breaking ground.
Up and down vibrating
sound, like thunderclaps
and breaking waves.
Heaving, growing,
climbing for freedom.
Soft hot
soil falls
from your fingers.
Wild earth,
fleshy feminine.
Down below
bodies are buzzing.
You make me quake.
I retell myself stories about you.
Memories become legend,
photos become statues,
but your echoing laugh sounds exactly the same.
Why are you alive in my sleep?
It hurts me to tell you this.
I don’t think he’s doing well.
I don’t think I can fix it.
His son’s face, turned toward the sun,
is the most beautiful thing you’ll never see.
You can come with me cross country
and when I stand in front of canyons
we can scream at the top of our lungs.
Back then, we were other people.
Your old-you met my old-me
and we heard us click into place.
Growing apart and back together—
intertwining vines,
dirt-packed back roads,
a multi-colored ball of yarn—
we’re at our fullest at the intersection.
We’re always together at crossroads.
Our appetites have grown as we’ve
devoured everything in our paths.
Gobbling up belly laughs,
licking our plates clean,
moaning with both sorrow and pleasure.
Big friends ‘til the end,
hungry for change,
reconnecting with our little selves,
together.
We met when we were other people.
We’ve been so many since then.
I can’t even imagine:
Who will we become?
Together.
My grandma turns 89 today. I can’t call her because she won’t remember me so I remember her instead.
I leaned in, talking to her like nothing had changed (because for me, nothing had). I showed her old photos of herself. In one photo of my pregnant mom, she asked who it was. “That’s your daughter, my mom. And that’s me,” I said, pointing at my mom’s belly.
Continue reading “A Nice Lady”
Every third Sunday from June to October, the Prospect Park Alliance and the NYC Food Truck Association sponsor a Food Truck Rally in Grand Army Plaza. I finally checked it out today, sampling the best trucks before the event’s end next month. (The Atlantic Antic is in October and one can only handle so much street food. Just kidding. Street food is the best.) The trucks encircle the entrance to the park from 11 AM to 5 PM, but things didn’t really pick up until close to 1 PM. Pictures of the food after the jump.
Continue reading “Grand Army Plaza’s Food Truck Rally”As seen on Classon Ave. on my way to the West Indian parade.
The beach-shadows captured
in the photo look dead on vacation.
In the 20 years since, these
ghosts have seen us, too—
two children, digging themselves out
so as not to be buried alive.
{WAYY}