from am to pm.

This afternoon, on seventh street, standing next to a man, I tried not to stare as he pulled out a key from his pocket and shoved it into his ear to remove wax, or a built up of some sort. Discovering he hadn’t been successful, he used his long pinky nail to go diggin’, than placed his unburied treasure between his front teeth and made a quick sucking sound that could barely be heard over the conversing cars. But I—I heard and saw it all, just out of the corner of my eye and one ear alone. Yesterday in the park, a man brushed his teeth while he sat on a bench in the sun. Early in the morning, a woman watched the neighborhood wake up as she sat restless in her wheelchair. There were no legs in her pants. Between C and Layfatte five men said, “You’re sexy” because they saw the way you touched your hair, liked the way you touched yourself, imagined how might—if you let them see you letting yourself. The way you bite your bottom lip makes them think you’ve got appeal, but really—you think—I just hold my tension in my jaw. Early into the evening a helicopter looked like it was landing on the sea, but as I looked out the cab window all I could catch in sight was a passenger, with his chin up, shaving after work. At dinner I sat at the end of a long table and faced a mirror that was probably twelve feet long. If I was “in-the-moment” I didn’t think to look up and see into myself or if I was distracted enough I may have just looked through myself. I don’t know, I hadn’t been thinking about it, but the times I had, and staring straight ahead of me, I saw myself—I’ll tell you—I was surprised. I walked behind a couple on the way home and watched as her left arm glazed over his warm blue back, her head titled to his side the entire way. I thought about the texture of romance. How romance is being able to feel skin even through layers. I didn’t even have to close my eyes and try, I could just remember: steel gray sweaters, wondering whether the fabric was an illusion, thinking it was his substance that you wanted to feel close to, his invisible shirts you could touch a million times more, one hand kept at the bottom of his back. I remember winter, lips purple in the outside air, frozen fingers poking out of pockets just to put around his back, lips kiss kissing kissed, winter, melting. I know in the fall you are suppose to see colors on the trees, but all I saw today was the world become greener—dark, warm, like the walls are falling in on you, but you aren't fearful. It felt like the hunting camp, being in the middle of nowhere you knew and nowhere you needed to escape from. It tasted of the red wine we drank, flies drowning in our plastic cups, their wings half beating causing ripples (or was that caused by something else?), nothing in between the desire for intoxication because there was nothing to worry about—just flies stuck between teeth and not sleeping with each other, unless of course we wanted to—but those aren’t things to worry about, just fun, just games. That’s how the night tasted. Like wine. Like flies between our teeth. And that’s how I felt. Warm. Like the world was growing darker in romance. When I passed through the park and he sat there with his dog. I saw him seeing me and watched as he looked into the air, through the tree, with everyone looking at a “what is it?—a twig”. And then, how he let his eyes fall and look back at me. That’s how I felt. Warm. When I tried to keep his stare. But couldn’t. Had to turn my face away from the fence. Because he made me smile, made me laugh. Because he broke me down. Surprise is what you feel, when a man resonates because he got you to smile without having to do anything at all, yet by doing so many few things. A man that can distract me from myself. That can match my thought. That is aware of what I am choosing to see out of the many images before me. The things I don’t expect, seeing myself act in unexpected ways—those surprises—are what I can taste. And I wish my eyes were cameras and by blinking I meant “smileeee”. Then, maybe, I could capture more of what I feel, capture what I see and haven’t been able to keep.


And so many times I say ‘you’ I mean to say ‘I’. And so many times I say ‘you’ I wish I could say ‘you’. I mean both.