Resolutions, desires & firsts

This has been a weird year. It has been a year of *firsts* - first ever surgery, first book, first awakening, first time really feeling like I am heading on the right path, first time working w/ a recruiting firm. Some experiences were terrifying, while others were thrilling. I hope the year has been good to you, too.

I usually come up with three or four solid resolutions each year. A manageable number. My four for the year are:

1. Take up dancing again
2. Travel
3. Publish another book
4. Be a better friend (to my friends & husband)

What are your resolutions, and if you have made them in the past, have you followed through with them?

As for desires, I will leave you with a good friend of mine (I wish). Happy New Year!

Crafty

Okay, the world must be coming close to imploding - I now knit. And furthermore, I enjoy it.

Stay tuned for fancy cat bonnets, toilet paper princesses, and other useless crap.

Oh yeah, and Happy New Year.

Will be posting my resolutions for 2007... starting a chain.

The Way it Tastes

Intent lines his stomach. Before them,
two steaks await the cutting.
Like ants, they move into the burrows
of observation -
Neither wants to disclose
or seal lips to what later
may be tasted as motion
in darkness. The city blows
its way between women. He
thinks they all smell different, but
the taste –
they taste the same. Somewhere
music passes through
him. He chews his salad and
wonders if cars are upside down
like this? She always looks faraway
and sips with caution.
He feels her legs shift, change
direction. Their heels touch.
The steaks stay uneaten, brown
bruises on moss-colored porcelain.
At home, he showers. She is singing
softly in the background.
Her hair is on the soap and in
the drain. He smells like Brazil –
a quiet, soapy hunger.
In the kitchen,
she feeds
the dogs the remains
of dinner.

Topeka

All you've ever wanted : the firefly and
the wind, the big realm where
possibility dwells, the parade of motors.
Snow falls on our field. You are out there,
lining the horizon, a figure smoking -
watching the whirls of garbage burning
into the sky. When do you fit into
a life, cradle the corn and the hammer
like they are starlets batting false eyelashes
in a stupid state, always sunshine,
always - Do we see the same lives
twinkle and shine, or have your
hands fallen the way mine have fallen,
to the pets, the comb, and later. Watching
traffic from the kitchen table. It is cold again.
You come in and kiss my hair, say
goodnight. Just goodnight.

Sunday, boring Sunday

Updates:

I'm doing a radio interview and will post the link and podcast soon.

Also, I have a poem appearing in Adirondack Review this month. It's quite a bit different from my usual style. I'll post the link when it's live.

Still healing and avoiding the holiday shopping madness.

Happy Sunday.

In the Cove

I liked the crashing.
I liked the waves and the stinging red,
the tempestuous mermaid,
but I cannot pretend I liked us there. You
with your bucket and umbrella,
suspicious camera clicking every
movement. The way you carefully waded,
taking the tide as a testimonial,
one foot moving shipwrecked crabs -
and all the while, I was already out
there waiting, seaweed in my eyes,
and the milk-eyed walrus at my side.
We stayed floating and waiting until
you looked like a human caught,
landlocked, like we had never met
and never would recognize this.