we could have been joni and victor

you could call it luck,
this thing which either
works in our favor or
shoots us down when
we think everything's on the up and up.

i have loved
and i have been lied to.
the air was champagne,
bubbling and fizzing over
with delights in my head:
a taste of what may come.
it was an idealized
butterfly kiss dream.
don't you know?
we could have been
joni and victor.

there was a couple
arm in arm, or
were they holding hands?
they were set, matched,
like two elements sharing ions.
it was a cupcake whose
frosting fell into the dirt.
he seemed alone, in need
just like me, O God,
to have the space filled
and the light return to his eyes.

we could have been that
that couple, eating off
of the same plate.
don't you know?
we could have been
joni and victor.
we could have been
more
than me looking
and you walking
the other way.

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"joni and victor" are a ficticious couple, based upon a story i overheard

a quiet morning?

hello friends,

most of you are familiar with the concept of working too much, existing in the realm of exhaustion, and finally being the fortunate recipient of one day off.

you would like to sleep.

you would like to watch that dvd or show you recorded for later.

you would like to have some clean clothes for the remainder of the week.

but your neighbor got up and started dropping shoes on the floor at 6:45AM. then the other neighbor parked his s.u.v. right outside your window at 8:30AM, and proceeded to move his santa-like body up and down the stairs to load something in the car. with his two buddies who are equally as foundation-shaking, and with whom the conversation outside of your door is unending.

you get out of bed, and consume caffeine in some form.

you try to start your day.

the sun, which you have not seen since last weekend, is hiding behind rain clouds until the afternoon.

your appetite returns, and the pantry gets emptied.

the cd in your stereo finished two hours ago, and you just now notice.

the morning has given way to a sleepy afternoon.

you join the soccer moms and oddly off work in the middle of the week people at the big box store. you read magazines, but don't buy them.

there was something you were supposed to do. what was it?

oh, yeah. sleep.

what to feed your mother

some will tell you that you have to make a home for yourself wherever you are
others will tell you that where you are now isn't so bad
irregardless of how painful the minutae within a situation, you are forever on the way to becoming the person that you will be
i'm tired of being single, but not stupid enough to be a fool
i'm ready for the next thing, but now i believe it is starting. right here. where i do not care to be.
my lemonade was bitter, because i was forever running out of sugar. too this, too that. excuses.
there are some who will tell you to clean yourself up, make everything rosey to feed your mother when she comes calling. but if she really knows you, loves you, she will see past the cardboard cookies and sarcarine-laced tea you pawn off.
be you. be real. be who you are right now. smile for no reason.

birds singing at night

for weeks now,
i have prayed for rain:
enough to wash the streets
and clear my eyes,
my red, blearied eyes.

today, a thunderstorm arose,
consuming the pollen
and heady summer weather.
riding its hem was crisp wind,
clotted up over the mountains,
at last sighing on my city.

the weather is
a cotton cable sweater
worn with shorts and sandals:
chill enough to give pause,
but welcome enough to bare skin.
it is the bird singing at night,
serenading me from the pear tree
in the ersatz day within darkness
of the apartment parking lot.

passionate rain, so long
in arriving, and so bittersweet
that i would have run out into it,
had there not been lightning.

love lends to taste

i have baked many things in the kitchen of my parents' house:
cornbread, lemon chess pie, lemon bars, lemon meringue, meringue with chocolate chips, key lime pie, apple pie, spice cake, pumpkin bread, pumpkin cheesecake, banana nut bread, banana lime bread, and banana pudding especially for dad

now i am commercializing my amateur talents, being taught to whip and froth many things within the span of a six hour shift. and i just don't know if i can do it. physically and mentally, yes. but emotionally... well, don't you know that everything tastes better with love baked into it.
from the notion of making something for someone else; shopping for ingredients; smiling at the imaginings of the receiving party's receiving; preparing it all within the confines of one's kitchen; and presenting the finished product, it is all about love. even if, perhaps, you don't especially care for the person on the other end, you still take care to make it right. love makes everything taste better.

in a world of rapid consumption; in a place known as the paradox of plenty, i now work for pay. it feels cheap and rushed, this ersatz prep. everything comes out of a bucket already measured and stirred, or else baked already and frozen for shipping. i was told several times this past weekend, as i erred and tried to formulate the requisite routine of baking this or that, that i must perform at a faster clip. this i will do as per the formality of retail, but quietly what i do make from scratch will have my signature: my love.

bagels and kaiser rolls and cookies, oh my!

i've just completed my second day as bakergirl at the local haunt.
said local haunt went corporate several years back, so now i am tediously measuring items and scooping cupcake/muffin matter out of a bucket. with an ice cream scoop.
the day starts for me by at least 4am, stumbling in the dark apartment to get myself out the door.
my uniform is a gy-normous men's polo tucked in and mostly tucked out of my pants. why don't companies make and distribute smaller sizes? my polo could double as a dress on me.
i'm learning something new again. excellent challenge. change is always happening, irregardless of how much some would like things to stay exactly the same. no two days are identical, and the world keeps turning.
bagels, anyone?