THE HALLUCINATOR

The hallucinator sees
the contents of their mind

spread out before them,
like dusty old knickknacks

brought up from the basement
and strewn out in the front yard.

Their minds become a
kaleidoscope.

They look at their life
and see themselves
as a miracle.

An accidental poem by this article in The Atlantic.

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Volunteer Park Conservatory, Seattle

THE SUNLIT UNKNOWN

Certain days, it
feels more real
than others.

Sudden understanding,
moments like a
wallet filled with
a finite number
of bills.

Curiosity asking:
“Just what will
I miss most?”

Young adults
everywhere wondering
what it takes: to
enjoy a job or to do
a job to enjoy life?

Intense but brief
relationships offer a
certain pattern–
patterns become the only
long-term investment.

Curiosity asking:
“Is there a moment
when you finally
feel adult?”

Turned off by the
idea of ‘waiting’
for damn near
anything.

Minds plugged into
computers, envious
of the coffeeshoppers
tapping feet to music,

Possibly reading,
researching, reflecting–
something personal
to gain.

Stretching ‘breaktime’
like a theraband.
Who’s watching?

Kiwi awnings at, I
admit, my favorite
coffeeshop.

Certain fondness,
a certain unknowing–
“What will I miss most?”

Never underestimate
the gravitational pull
of the place where
you gained financial
independence.

Also: where you
curated a fine group
of ‘adult’ friends.

Even when it feels
real, this hawk-shadow
of swooping change,
I can’t deny my
giddy disposition:

Us, hand in hand,
walking confidently
into the sunlit unknown.

 

Written on February 11, 2014…shortly after Brenton & I decided we would quit our jobs and relocate from Philadelphia to Seattle. We made the move on June 23, 2014.

 

 

TRASHDAY, A TEAM ACTIVITY

Down four floors with our
rubbish–2 fat paper bags with
recyclables, a greenish orb
of warm compost, one small
knotted white bag,

We are ejected into the
parking garage, concrete
and sloping. Through one
gate, eager to sort it
(and forget it).

They pile out, two-by-two:
neighbors with giant coolers,
discarded lamps, pizza boxes.

Trash day, (which is actually
any day when you have dumpster-access)
it occurs to me, is a team activity.

PHILADELPHIA, NAKED.

It is a wonder that my eyes
may see the city from such
varied perches, day to day:

By bus: elevated so that
I may gaze indulgently
into wet, dirt-caked
cavities of construction sites
hidden when I am

By bike: so that the flawed
contours of road, frenzied
traffic patterns spill soft
city breath on my cheeks,
ever still when I am

By foot: so that I may watch,
observe, stop at the apex of the
Walnut Street Bridge and see
(for the first time) clumps of
bright clothing, remnants
of bicycles, water bottles
sticking to the concrete
embankment below.

 

COLLARS OPTIONAL

Darling as she was,
body scoot-scooting down
the hall–

pitter-patter nails on cement,
racing her owner to the
elevator, where I wait
at 8:30am

Two-pound Chihuahua,
blind as a bat

It is the sort of place
where dogs flee unleashed
through parking garages,
in elevators, through
open apartment doors
(in summer)

Leashes are carried,
administered sparingly
(on sidewalks, mostly)

And while sometimes
stressful, the dogs
aren’t the only ones

who find it freeing

Alfie looking angelic

Our Alfie 🙂