Bread and Water Can So Easily Be Toast and Tea

August 28 2008.

We were in the community garden at night with my shitty lighter, the pretty blue one that reeks of gasoline, and all the sunflowers stood up brave and tall, leaning over the wooden fence towards us. They had faces, black and beaded and interested, and Anna said, let’s give them high-fives, let’s high-five those flowers, they are beautiful and I want everything to be beautiful. That’s not what she said, but that’s how I remember it as I want to. Spencer said, I’ll pound them.

You rocked like a boat, you said you felt the river underneath your back like wings, you said you felt it. Sigur Ros is on again, so we can all sit and stare into each other’s eyes like we might fall in. You said, I can feel my soul rock, it is coming out, and it is coming back inside again.

Stephanie tells me I’d be the perfect candidate for a secret life: “All the costumes and secret smiles.” We can be angry all together if we’d like, but it’s better in the sunlight to be splendid all together.

It’s so easy to agree when Anna says, “Can we just like, pass the fuck out real quick?” when all she means is sleep we’ve missed while living. Anna says she wishes people could be clouds.

My knuckles turn red from pressure when I tell secrets on the phone, something I swore I’d never do. Look at the moon, it’s like a birth. Give that rip a tug.

She would visit everyone and everything, she would climb high and hold creatures and nurture trees and tame animals and pickle things in jam jars. He would rule the world someday. What would I do if I knew life was infinite? I would eat slowly and sleep more. I’d read that poem about slicing those pears and eating them in bed with a lover. I’d slice those pears, eat them, and fall back into arms and sleep.