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broomstick_persuasion
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Name: Karina
Birthday: 5/30/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: I am interested by things that interest me. Right now, those are variable and not quite easily defined:
giant bubbles, pink-haired queers, baobab trees, raspberry-lime soda
Expertise: I tutor people in Chemistry.
I'm also quite good at laughing in public and selling seashells (by the sea shore).
Occupation: Professional daydreamer
Message: message me
AIM:  vaguefamiliarity
Member Since:
8/13/2004
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| Mother calls me, frantic.
I am a grown child and yet four days without a phone call
and I'm dead in a gutter, smoking crack
with ex-convicts
in rundown gas station bathrooms.
Then I realize she is crying.
She is crying for the time we locked ourselves out of the house
and I had to run down the street in my stockings;
the time I stepped on the rusty wire in the backyard,
or maybe it wasn't me; the time
my father threw a lamp through the window
and called me a dyke.
She tells me she's sorry and it's all her fault and
she should have called me earlier but she couldn't and she's sorry
and she loves me and.
Your cat is dead.
He's dead.
Since I came back I've been telling her "we should put him down"
but now it's real. In the kitchen,
she has cleaned up his food dish.
I feel her small frame crumble in my arms.
Something very large,
larger than a small black cat,
has died.
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| Halloween this year
I am without a costume.
I watch a princess battle her mother
and end up wild, sugar-high on the floor.
There are teenage boys
dressed up as girls, and glittery angels
with eyeglasses & torn tights.
Behind me, people are discussing New York,
and parents who are afraid of their children
growing up.
There are men in the corner pontificating,
philosophy and coffee mugs--
when I was seventeen,
handing out candy at the convenience store,
one of them told me
that I didn't belong there.
I smiled politely,
and offered him a tootsie roll. | | |
| This is the sound of
of things falling apart--
clattering to the floor like discarded clothes &
misplaced shoes, change, teacups,
my unborn children's regrets.
My feet cannot be trusted;
they bring me places where I do not wish to be,
trip over themselves,
tell all my secrets.
On the mornings when I am most drunk
I find myself with my tongue between my teeth,
blood on my hands and in the back
of my throat.
When I remember how to be silent
I place my hands over my eyes
and stare down the sun;
I am waiting for my retinas to burn out
and the universe to open.
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| Boston is a mystery.
I have wandered cities with more exotic names,
cities with skyscraper handjobs and teeth like razors,
cities with green parks full
of fairy children and bocce ball.
I have sat on bridges and thought of jumping into the ocean,
swept out and polished like sea glass.
Mountains have broken my toes, and one day, drunk on good wishes,
I swam naked in Lake Union.
On a park bench near the Haight
a pretty lesbian took my hand and we climbed trees in the park.
I have kissed alligators and caught butterflies;
found Jesus in a Salt Lake City bus station
and promptly lost him again.
Here on the subway I imagine what I will say to you:
Did you enjoy Paris? Were the women beautiful?
Did you find your lost mother, seven euros, a box full of faded postcards?
I will wink unconvincingly and you'll buy me coffee
from the street vendor
with bluish, cracked fingers.
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| Sometimes when I am drunk I hear sounds that evade me
when I am purely awake, when I am caught on my own tongue,
gluing paper to outlet covers and telling my mother
I still make art.
There are eyes following me through the haze of the early morning,
catching my hands when I misplace gravity
underneath a beer coaster. Did you forget my name
or are we merely speechless?
You think I'm coy
but I want to fuck you like you wouldn't believe,
it's just that the sound of your voice makes my skin crawl
but your eyes and your mouth
make me wet. So let's do it silently,
in the dark, in the back of your daddy's pick up truck
and we can play out the game that says we still love each other.
I know we still love each other.
But your actions scream,
"baby, I'm only into you because of that pretty mouth",
your fingers traveling up the inside of my thigh.
I put down my beer and kiss you deeply on the street corner,
in the rain, before I watch the shadow of you
disappear behind another lamp post.
This is how it's always going to be.
***************************************
I want to reformat this tomorrow.
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