Waves are made of the same water rotating tirelessly. —Cassie Lewis
I used to love Hal- loween. Today, this one is somber, at the end of a near catastrophic October. Some- how I rise, surely more zombie than human, in search of motivation, inspiration, happiness— all the things that lead to cash rewards on every pur- chase. They turned my only remaining bank into a café. It’s still a bank, but it’s wearing a chainstore coffeeshop costume. Adopting a pet can change its world and yours.
The Burden of Living Off the Graciousness of Others
I really enjoy it when, say, a generic brand of strawberry soda has, rather, a distinct cream soda taste. And this happens on occasion. To me, it does…. Anyone else?
The act of engagement. Engaging in
person (irl, non-virtual). Yet for all of
the day’s generosity, the beautifully
spun green and gold floating backwards through the internet, past the new
social blockade and landing here in my very lap, it is that act I miss the most. Nose to nose talk done not by fingers (which carry about contorted, flying through the space just in front of
our eyes, if not locked between a pair of them). Voices the steam from which we can feel on our cheeks and words that are spoken with our entire bodies…. My eyes, your eyes. Eyes that know me and
mine that know you, eyes that have a history between them, can work to recall
times such as these. See the both of us
in something of a tight orbit, air quotes, a three dimensional thumbs-up, a held
but spinning glass of wine, building suspense, finally tilted so it’s almost spilled, until we are speaking a decibel or two louder and our faces flush. We seem to care, as if we’ve each a bit of
something at stake, a small piece of you and a small piece of me which we offer the other or carefully take. We’ll talk the afternoon away, just like we used to, of course, through a wonderful
evening we’ll chatter away. It’s so lovely
to see you, perhaps you could stay? Let’s say for dinner? Or even the night? It has been forever, there’s so much to relay. Oh, please say you’ll do so, I find my
self texting while thinking so loud that I notice the sound of my very own voice. I look up embarrassed then back at the key- board before reminiscing, soda in hand, caught
Sure there are eucalypts but they seem as out of place as we do. —Cassie Lewis
I have joined the leagues: I am grooming at the public library. I am, to be precise, clipping my finger- nails into a can of trash near the poetry section. But this act definitely falls easily under the category of The Leagues Who Groom Them- selves at the Public Library. Next thing you know, I’ll be tak- ing a sponge bath in stall number two on floor one – in the only public restroom at
the main library. When I last used to come regularly to the this library – to browse the poetry section, no less – I would often refer to the men’s room as the homeless showers. The next thing I know....
