New Bloggie!

I’m attempting to consolidate all of my disparate interests and manifestations of myself, so from now on I will be making all blog posts (food or poetry related) on my tumblr blog: embarrassingthoughts.tumblr.com. For now, it’s an experiment to see if all my thoughts and interests can go in one crazy place. If you’re following my blog, please switch to that feed. I will tag things with their subject matter to make it easier to follow what you’re interested in. See you on tumblr!

I Made A Skirt!!

It's finished! I had some help from my lovely teacher Susan at Fashion Antidote in London, and I hope this is just the beginning of many sewing projects to come.

Snow

Today I saw the white flecks

of time falling through the air.

Today I saw the snow flakes

their delicate designs melting.

I picture you from time to time

clasping your copy of To Kill a Mocking Bird

and running your hand along the

white and smooth surface of death.

You are in that room for eternity,

you, waiting and knowing

going inward and inward.

It is soft.

The way it comes to you.

It’s like a sleep, but it’s not.

It is always coming to you

and washing over you.

It’s like a sleep after an

exhausting day.

Here is my mantra. The thing

you made me understand.

We all have to die, just

some of us, sooner than others.

Dream 2

The door is made of glass.

Outside is a killer

a statue/ a man

with a woman’s wings.

Fear is knocking me down

And reminding me

about me/ about life

about breathing in.

The thought that glass

is so fragile is a

clenched hand/ a bird

a crawling spider on my neck.

I see him eyeing the smooth

glass, grinding his teeth,

his hand stroking/ bursting through

placed gently, palm out on the door.

The Seam

Father, you are too close to the dead.

For you, the seam between this world

and the next is so thin you could

easily slip your hand between the threads

and understand eternity.

You surround yourself with people

who hold hands with death every day

and when he pulls them over you say

another gone to that country I know

and its siren quiet and calm.

Your gray blue eyes are always looking

at you from behind their faces

so you extend your hand to them and say,

welcome to the club sir. I see you are drowning

and want to catch a little breath.

Gift

You buy me a

sewing machine

for Christmas.

You think I

can learn by

myself using

a book.

I feel as if you

have handed me

a violin

and asked me

to learn to play

a concerto

without a teacher.

Still

So, there is still a part of me

you can touch

without being here

or even thinking of me.

I want everything to be

completely magical

without you.

That’s the only way I can

stand it, the weight

of all the years

we spent together.

So, I found someone

almost magical enough.

but you see.

There are still stains

on the carpet, and

nights spent

watching TV on the couch.

And that’s where you get me.

Still, still a year and a half

later the fleshy parts of me

are bruised.

And when I hear of you

I feel again the dull pain,

just a slip of the invisible hand.

The fingers plying at the places

you once touched

so often.