Blog Posts

  • The Best Memory

                                       The Best Memory



    The best Fall I remember happened outside of Paris due

    north near Chambord in November maybe October’s

    when the Beaujolais Nouveau was released along with

    me…I walked out

    the door of the inn we stayed in

    while you drank with our host.

    I wandered following troughs of wet leaves marking

    the crusades and the dark fall  all yellow

    smelling of dank and my life as an

    obedient pathfinder Joan of Arc

    wanting you to worry I was lost

    yet  knowing you never would.

    Hours later I reluctantly returned just as I used

    to at 8 and still no one noticed.

    I think we made love that night

    as we usually did but the bed was small, you

    said, as you moved across the parquet floor

    to the adjacent one

    and closer to your children across the

    Atlantic and I imagined

    us leaving in the morning croissants uncurled

    and me dressed in black because you said it was

    best and before I knew it we were back in

    California and you were married again

    yet I was still outside of Paris in November

    in 1996 longing for something I had felt

    for a brief moment but never again.

  • Last night
    Last night as the sun set
  • (no title)
    My Blue Heron flies away
  • “The Favorite” Lecture at Maine Media Workshops + College
  • In Reality

    For the longest time I thought I might become

    someone else.

    I could be Norwegian and learn the language well so people would say how

    no one could tell I wasn’t a native.

    My hair would miraculously turn blond.

    It would be ok to like sex.

    I like the sounds of their desserts.

    Or I could be a lawyer in Manhattan wearing crispy tight suits in black with very high heels and click click click across the court room floor stating my case with brilliant red lips and always winning.

    Rootless like a malformed carrot I

    refuse to flourish in one place.

    I know this is a  problem this rootlessness.

    It’s prevented me from 

    applying myself  to much of anything: love, housekeeping, friendship, home repair… you get the story. I kept a suitcase filled with cash hidden in my house and a bag packed with essentials which changed from month to month.

    Now my rootlessness fits right in. No one is going anywhere but everyone would like to be rootless.

    Where will I go when I can go anywhere?

    Hawaii because I can’t get the music of palm trees out of my head.

    Like Eloise, I could move into the Four Seasons hotel on the Big Island and go down to dinner every night sitting at the bar overlooking the lapping ocean generously tipping the bartender so that he always saved my seat.

    And oh yes there is the spa with palm leaves that rattle above your hut while you are having a massage. Preferably a Lomi Lomi massage and I don’t know what that is.

    I have entertained myself all day thinking of places I would like to go when I can go anywhere. Frankly, it may be better in my imagination. That’s been a life long problem of mine.