Saturday, March 17, 2012

St. Patrick's Day

Yesterday, I discovered an empty vial of essential oil & a branch out on my living room window sill.

Today, there are several Jesus, Joseph & Mary prayer cards on the fire escape off my bedroom window.

If someone's trying to tell me something, I'm electing to interpret it as a good omen.

Sunday, March 04, 2012

Desert City Sun

I'm walking by the silent cinema when a man in a parked car to my right asks where all the movie theatres are around here.

I'm having frayed quasi-mid-life-crisis thoughts, but recover, side-eyeing the silent cinema to my left, and say er, there's one at so & so, just up so & so. Are you looking for a regular theatre?

Yeah, one that doesn't suck, he replies with conviction--the opposite of what I'm feeling, namely about theatre, production and being a playwright--as if my advice to him in this regard will unlock the obstacle some invisible power has rigged just to mess with us.

There's one up there, I tell him, non-committal, then fall silent and resume my walk in the opposite direction.

Saturday, March 03, 2012


Survivor’s guilt, they call this
and right away, when the strongholds start to give,
I do feel selfish for surviving, for this seeming
interminable ability to grieve as if
these wounds are all still raw years
later, for this crazy-making wish
to please trade places with those who
protected me, the people I can no longer return
that--or any--favor to.


I invoke their memories & the avalanche
resumes, eroding any settled ground, when my guilt—
my guilt is a comparative luxury, triggered
by the mere act of speaking
their names, the guilt
shaping itself into a strangled silent howl, the
guilt that pushes back on me later in
this ragged stream I must

turn away from
to survive--cannot say, cannot see anyone
because there is no one
who can change it.