Skip to main content

Palermo in the afternoon

I kept meaning to thank tammy for
having lunch with me at the lovely
Italian restaurant -staring at her hair
across the table, wishing I could live
inside it for one day.
-and I got to meet for the first time an
older, beautiful, French gentlemen, waiting
our table, I hung on his every word, and sniffed
the air that came from his smoky, cologned
skin.

Comments

Tammy Gomez said…
you're welcome! i had just the best best time catching up with you. what a sweet soul you are.
and, we must go back to hear more from our French waiter. he was such a charmer.

Popular posts from this blog

mayhem

the link between sanity and insanity is but a snap: almost like a twig beneath your shoe in november and what happens when you can't leave your home because your anger and fear keep you prisoner, and all you want to do is be loved and be good at loving and quit hating everything including the cheap folgers coffee when you really wanted the good stuff from central market or why you can't reach your mother anymore because her pain is rearing it's ugly head over the phone and your siblings don't have much to do with you anymore, why? who really knows, maybe it's because you are becoming the one thing they hate the most but you don't know what that is and in two months you'll be 36 and you still do not have children and you are in financial ruin and you don't have the one thing you really want which is that front porch swing, but first you have to have the front porch. anyway. right?

the day

Four years really? since my last post.  My beloved Dirt Verse, I'm returned to you, lay myself at your feet.  Can't believe, wait I can.  that I neglected and denied myself.  Here is a time where things can and will turn one way or the next, this age, this time.  And like many of my beliefs, I am smack in the middle of packing up and never coming back and planting roots.  Ok here goes:

never said

as I said. and seriously now, it seems I look around me and find no friend, no ear. my husband's, but that's different. so I get scared because I love him the most, but I think I forgot to make friends with myself. so I look at myself at age 15 or 50, what is that on my chin? and why does my face look like that when I half-heartedly laugh. no wonder no one will speak to her. and why does she smell like garlic when she doesn't even have the balls to cook with real-live garlic, just the powder. she is not woman enough either. no wonder no one will speak to her.