In the square

Exhausted, sun-stroked, we sat
after hours of tying not to admit I'd gotten us lost
I gulped tepid water, pretending
that my thirst might be quenched.
Shade. The obliging trees of an unfamiliar village square,
Foreign bodies unused to Moroccan sun,
we rest.

Cigarettes appear, in an attempt to blend in.
I do not smoke.
As our talk turns to the nature of happiness,
I begin to reconsider.
I thirst for the taste of paper smoldering to ash between your fingers.
I believe you, when you say happiness is a poor child
you befriended in an alley by gifting a toy car.
You may not own him
or command his every secret
but you, at least,
would know him
if he passed you in the street.
His hand raised in greeting
And your response rolled out like smoke
exhaled over a native tongue.

I swallow more water.
The others are still discussing happiness
academic, abstract, now, but no less real than your barefoot boy.
It is as present, as possible for them as the sweat on their necks
the weight of sundry electronic devices in REI backpacks
the provocation of color in the spray paint on sand-colored walls.
They do not worry that we are lost.
They are paper, warm tobacco on your wet lips
I am hot ashes falling from your fingers in the
stubborn, stagnant afternoon air.

Oh yeah, my senior essay is almost done, too.

I think this version is much better than the last one I posted but you can be the judge, if you're interested:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Nj2uhYNpAYCf1EfxvR8tsXA0zsLF-9IeH7KFl9sQe2w/edit?hl=en_US&authkey=CLu1-PgI

Feedback is welcome. Even though I turned this in as my final for a grade, I'm still hoping to keep improving upon it.

Updates from Spain and smelling like an airplane

I already posted an update on my Morocco blog but I thought I'd post here because I'm killing some time waiting for a shower to free up. The Hostel I'm staying at is adorable and kind of strange but full of marble staircases and weird locks with codes that are all one number. It feels super secure but I'm still paranoid since my wallet was stolen and I'm not taking any chances. The challenge will be taking a shower without leaving anything too valuable out in the bedroom.

I met a couple of American girls in the coffee shop next door. (Ok, full disclosure: it was Starbucks. I know, I KNOW, I didn't fly across the globe to drink the same Americano I was too good for in Seattle. But they have free wifi and a bunch of open couches and I had to kill an hour before check-in. Wandering around Spain sounds great, just not with two giant backpacks.) They were nice girls, on their way to Portugal and then back to France. It's funny the way Americans meet when we're abroad. I probably wouldn't trust these girls as far as I could throw them back in the states, but here we are allies, guarding each others' backpacks while we take turns in the bathroom, sharing tips about what to see, what to read, and how to get to the airport.

I think I'm going to go shower now and wander in the sun in a dress while I'm still in a place where it is culturally acceptable. I really can't wait to stop smelling like airplanes. I miss and love you all!

The book!

A first look at the lovely cover art by Kitri Wood:

Detail:

Right now the printer that will make the inside of the book is down, so I'll be posting ordering details, pricing and all that jazz as soon as it is back online....

What friends are

Sometimes you take one in the teeth.

Yesterday was a bad day for me before anything went wrong at work. I'll be up front about that. There are certain kinds of wounds that don't heal right, that leave just big empty spaces inside until even compassion hurts too much. My life has this disfiguring scar from years ago that changed so much about who I am and where I ended up and how I got here. Most days I don't think about it. Some days I can't help but stare. It is small and spiteful and beneath me to still think this, but I resent the hell out of every normal moment he gets to have. I suppose I could avoid knowing it, but news of him is like a tumor surrounded by too many healthy cells to cut out completely. I have cut out enough of my life and I would rather spend a resentful few days than cut out any more. Since I'm on a bit of a Col. Brandon kick lately I will think May He Endeavor To Deserve It until I forget, again.

So, anyway, when a chance at catching a big shoplifter yesterday was missed because of my mistake, I took it pretty hard. Every one messes up, and in a high-stakes game the heightened thrill is a direct result of the possibility that something like this can happen. That you can mess up in the smallest way imaginable and the consequences are huge. So I fucked up just about as badly as I ever have in an employment situation. But the moment you really mess up is the moment you learn the kind of stuff your friendships are made of. Mine amaze me. Literal and figurative shoulders to cry on. Kind words of support when I needed them. The misguided but still appreciated instinct to grab car keys and come rescue me. Stories of mistakes on the same level. My writers group boys not minding that I was both drunk and miserable. and then, this morning, my boss being so amazingly decent about it all. Everything is OK. I still simmer with regret and self-reproach but I will make up for it.

You pick yourself up, you take a deep breath and you get through. Then you stop crowing about small victories till you find one that rivals this mistake.

That is how.


So what now? New lady gaga, a shower, the end of a new Jason Vanhee novel and an early bedtime. Life is going to kick my ass sometimes, I'm going to make mistakes sometimes, and I'm glad I have people in my life to be there for me.

Thanks, all.

Wandering Girl Haiku

Nights like this, listening
only to love songs, waiting
to feel this again.

Morocco Blog!

Hey all,

I've started a travel blog for my upcoming trip. It will be very advice-oriented and apolitical, as it is for school, and my department has enough problems with me. I will still blog here (though probably less often once I am in Morocco and cut off from regular internet access) and I will even post links to updates over at that blog from time to time if I have any really exciting adventures.

While I'm updating about random things, I thought I should mention Dear Mr President- the book. Yes, it is finally ready for the printers, thanks to the combined efforts of Kitri, the wonder-woman of graphic design, and Anna, the Jedi copyeditor. Soon it will be handed over to Homer, the Espresso Book Machine at UBS and then it will be available to purchase. More details (price, ordering, etc.) to come on this, I know I've been dragging my feet but it will be a much, much better book thanks to the efforts of my talented friends. Thanks for your patience, and, I promise, you won't be disappointed :)