We’re like tramps living in this half-furnished house
taking two-mouthful shots outta that big old bottle
playing 8-bit games in between smoke breaks

And when we feel like dancing the house will shake
letting the primal urge take we throw ourselves around
the basement room empty save a couch, the speakers
and some ****** art installment we are still painting

There’s a pile of us on the extra mattress in the laundry room
talking about hopes and dreams for a new life
****** out of old nests, we build our own in the ***** clothes
someone starts crying
I swear I’m in love with every person in the room.

It’s time for another pack or two of smokes for the boys
So we wipe our tears and snot and leave the nest
to run down the 4 am streets with no shoes
sparkling in starlight like vagabonds.

And I turn to my shoeless friend and say:
We could live like this.

Home to a half-furnished house, muffled in sleep-sighs
the couches, the chairs are draped with passed out kids
I cover them with sheets and blankets and kiss every one goodnight

Even the mattress in the laundry room is full
so we lay out a blanket and throw pillows in front of the ****** art installment
sleeping in just shorts, as the heat wave holds the town
the boys let me on top of the dog-pile because I’m smallest
and because in the morning I’ll wake up to make them breakfast.

I wanted to be your same color
living in a world where back roads racing,
fathers up-and-leaving,
mothers smoking in the house with the baby
is taken into caviler stride-by-stride.

**** your hat a little farther to the side
and tell me this all don’t matter.
But it comes at you in vivid splashes,
when you try to sleep under
the lumpy comforter
in the bed that I made for you
while you were in the shower

And you call me your beautiful angel,
in stark washes of fluorescent lamplight.
You’ll take the pills to sleep at night
and I won’t
I’ll just lie there pretending
until you wakeup late and groggy
And you leave me.

Nothing's kosher for Passover
so it's you me and some salad for the week.
This is, of course, alright with me.
At the end of the month we're taking  a trip to the beach;
I'll be slim and shivering
like the spring leaves that unfurl
when I am not looking
or when I am asleep.

Sapped to a pastel
against the brightly colored world
(I'd rather live in dreams about you).
I've started taking things that aren't mine
to feel closer to memory.
All pale pinks of my skin
washed in the greens of your eyes.
The bonfires I build, the misty greys I exhale
are all smoke signals to you
across the world.
*Come home to me;
you are a home to me.

The love of my life so far is in Australia.
My life so far, I’ve gotten so far,
but I say it to mean “there’s more to come.”
My life so far,
he’s gone so far,
but I’m too young to expect him to stay.
Or to go roots-up with him.
My only job is to wait until January.
It’s not so far
till when he’ll be home,
but each moment in each cell aches with distance.
I am so far gone.

My insides are all rustled up.
That internal migration pull
of elsewhere travel adventure.

I'm getting sick of it here,
turns out I'm not all that bright.

My horoscope says I should tell him I love him;
I think I just might.
we can up and run away
Together.

My footing here is so uncertain
I think I might just jump;
I don't want to look back at this place
that laughs in my face.

Steal my heart
or still my heart
It makes no difference, just
filling the silence till
he says he loves me (tomorrow?
maybe never again).
So if you ask me to come I'll come
but don't you dare bore me
sentimentally
I'll put out (my cigarette in your eye).

The storm came in with a face in the clouds
looked like old father time.
Or God leading the way.
Turned the sky yellow and the trees blue.
Very near got blown away watching
that tree trunk split, how it groaned
and smashed down onto metal bent,
road blocked
and I hollered along. I stomped and soaked
in the shards of glass raining down to the street
hiding under trees in the garden like an animal
letting the vast plane of nature assimilate
feeling my roots be put down into the ground
I am this screaming wind, clean and new, angry and vengeful
like I was rained down from the clouds myself.

Strawberry ***** veins,
pronounce "Appalachia"
(correctly?)
Take care of me.

She might be a woman, bronzed face turned upward
worshiping in a small pool of dappled sunlight.
But she is most like a girl still
carrying along a pink blanket,
engrossed in her newest book,
legs crossed sitting on the porch in a
mauve and lace sundress.
The other colors of the world,
she fits into them, she wears them well.

The green of the trees in its last intensity,
beginning the parched death into the fall.
The blessing of a blue sky,
and the belladonna lilies have reached up
announcing the end of summer
(bliss, contentment, inherent joy of living)
with their bare stems and slip of pink.

The quiet charm of summer afternoons
in company with the restless spirit autumn brings
she sits to wait, remember, cherish the summer.
The cold will be on her soon.

God your car smells terrible
running errands Sunday afternoon
windows down, driving fast
on the north side of town
feeding you peach rings while you drive
listening to the Lady herself.
Smile your sharp-toothed smile and
I’ll remember mine
Darling, I want you to drive off the road
so I won’t have to tell the world what we’ve done
You and I both know
these burning secrets at the bottom of our hearts
eventually come out to see the sun
Shining in our eyes on a Sunday afternoon

Feel muted sadness;
the lonely whir of your guts
look out the window

Not down to my shoes
They love me when I walk into a room
There's applause and shouts of MIMI
I can't help it
Party girl

I should have studied for life tonight
Instead I just left the book outside
Like the new telephone directory.

You know once, I walked past it on my door mat
For weeks until my Momma decided to come home
And read every single word in that phone book.

When I say you dont know **** about this life it's true
I'll sit out here all night to tell you so
All the time I think of that one way to escape

I always said I'd be dead before I could have this thought
I always assumed some catastrophic accident would take me home.
Isn't it up there? Because I can't find home here.

This is happening more and more.
It’s ungodly early and we’re tripping on bricks
a pack of feckless teenagers still.
That never changed.
The tall one, skinny with rosy cheeks
and the eyes of a fighter
is holding loosely onto my hand
his nose won’t stop bleeding.

We follow the broad intimidating one
in a red sox hat,
he’s punching every stop sign we pass
and just hollering
how we’ll always stick together
you don’t mess with family
(I’ve known them all for three weeks)
his accent is getting thicker through his swollen lip.

In the rear the shorter one, but still much taller than me,
his hair stuck up in all directions
is still getting his breath back from that sock to the stomach.

We all love that frozen moment, when first punch turns to full on brawl.
Peter says even if you get hit, at least you’re feeling something.
We all taste like bourbon, cause this is the South now.

I’m draggin’ them home in my favorite blue skirt,
two heads shorter at least.
Saying, soon we’ll be home boys, I’ll fix you up then.
Because they’ll fight for me, I fight for them.
Saying stop punching public property, Paul and
Stevie, I’ve got you, don’t cry
The Pats are on tomorrow boys, and we’ve all got work to do.
just a little longer

I find family where I can these days.

I haven't got upstairs yet
want it to be when my eyes are heavy that I fall into bed
my very own bed.
I want it to be a truthful sweet moment
alone with my thoughts and my sheets.
Finally to be home.
Home is just a word.
All I need is a place where people love me,
and feed me,
and sweep my hair out of my eyes.
It could be anywhere.
But when I stepped out of the cold into the foyer;
then into the den
and no one knew I was there yet, I saw the clock.
The old maritime chipped-gold-plated clock that chimes on the hour.
Had not moved since 7:27 very many months ago,
since last time I was here.
This has been my job since I was very young.
Open the clock face and reset the time to 2:27
To grab the gold key hidden under it's wooden frame,
to first twist the clockwork cog that creaks and
hear the ticking alive again from turning wheels.
Then the cog that works the bell,
and flick the hidden switch to turn on the chime.
Close the face with a click and sigh
as my family runs in to greet me.

I've been getting sicker
skinnier
if you missed me

The homework assignment was particularly hard
you never clarify what it is that you want.

I wanted to dance with you in the ***** of a dark hill
in my drop-dead dress.

Last night I held a dinner party
The boyfriends smoked on the balcony
while the girlfriends cooked.
I orchestrated three courses:
spinach salad,
lemon rosemary chicken and mushroom cream risotto,
and strawberry pie.
We even had three whole bottles of wine to match each one.

It takes a sophisticated finesse to throw one of these things,
the mess of an apartment is filled with wine-tipsy giggles
and shouts of "look I'm domestic!" when the chicken comes out of the oven.
We set the table with a white cloth and tried to match all the plates.

To sit with friends and food,
I feel, are the two most important things in the world.
We gathered at the table but we did not pray.
Instead, a toast!
To friends like family, job offers on both coasts,
boyfriends, girlfriends, to be so lucky in love,
to little Mimi, she's done so well here. For those
graduating, we're sad to leave, for those returning
we look forward to another year
with her cooking!

Sometimes I forget
I don't celebrate Christmas
like everyone else.

Many times I think
it would be much easier
to be just like you,

And not field questions:
"Do you also celebrate
Thanksgiving, like us?"

I am simply a
Jewish American girl.
Yes I am different.

Not so much different
That you should tip-toe around.
Like you, I'm human.

It’s started up again
just in time for winter
lighting fires on Wednesday nights
watching the sparks fly up to the sky
wondering what would happen if I stepped in
and became a spark too.
The train rolls by six times a day.
Six times a day I see myself under the wheels.
I stand a little too close. My hair is ruffled by the speed.
The rails still sing as the last car rolls away
steel polished clean by speed and weight
and heat.
I look at it leaving. Hop the ties and keep moving.
Carrying a pair of glasses in my hand I feel like some kind of omen,
as if anyone on this street would notice.
see more clearly
Threadbare white t-shirt and my three nazar bracelets
protect me from the evil eye to
see more clearly
Give me luck this time, in the tradition of my ancestors
but not my parents.
The paint on the sides of the receding cars
remind me of my artist breathing in deeply,
exhaling grey smoke. He says it opens up his third eye to
see more clearly.
It’s not my problem
This clouding of the mind though
I can’t see my heart and my soul  when the world around me starts to rot too.
Muscles obey other voices sometimes
near the knives or rail ties
rubber car tires.

I used a thesaurus for this
I wanted to have the right word
for when you look at me
and laugh
because you’re amazed
I’m in front of you.
I wanted the right word
for when you unexpectedly
grab my hand
and say what I’m thinking.
For the way grape and melon slushies
or ice cream with too many sprinkles
are things for only us.
For all of those times I’ve said
“I know”
when I don’t.
Spitting off the tops of parking garages.
When I try to tell you what you are to me.
Trying to describe the deeps of your eyes,
my strange love for your nose,
and that smile that launched a thousand blood cells
or something.
The broadness of your shoulders I imagine curling
into sometimes
when I’m feeling tired.
VITAE
I wanted to fly kites and sing
directly
on
key.

In the last days of school, the first days of summer, we pile into a car. All these people I'm not close to suddenly become my best friends. I'm contented to go where they drive, my head hanging out the front seat window into the distinctly summer-tinted air. We pull up to the city gardens with a pizza, dancing to The Strokes and the beating of the world's heart, alive around us. I make everyone clover crowns. He is the King, his thoughtful brown eyes outshining his careful smile. I am the Queen. One and Another, the Prince and Princess he with his pleasant, measured voice and her trills of brilliant laughter. And the too-old senior tagged along for who knows what reason, is the Jester, loathe to wear the effeminate flowers above his ears. We climb things. We somersault. We throw loving insults up to the wind like kites. We hoot and holler at the blue blue sky and the koi fish in ponds, dancing along the stone borders. So close to falling into the algae.
We sing the summer in.
The Jester has never known true right from wrong, he is learning to live on his own, with the scars on his arms and face. He is not welcome at home anymore. The Prince is moving back across a world into the arms of a now unfamiliar life, nothing waits for him there but the promise of his next powdery high. The King's mother has three months to live, all we can do is wait. The Princess and I, the Queen of the wild rumpus, finally lay down to count clouds.
We have nothing left.

I saw him sitting at that desk drawing,
we were a bright neon star in a darker fall night.
He did not look up,
or see me the way that I saw him.
For me the world slowed down
white grit froze halfway up to some party kids nose
and the thumping bass slowed.
A light shined around him in a way,
my life changed in a way I will never be able to explain.

When the fox came at me, his eyes caught the last light.
I jumped in surprise;
when my feet hit the dust and dirt of the lonely meadow trail,
he turned his tail and dove into a bush.

I looked up to catch my breath
in time to see a falling star arc the sky.
Strong silver and unfaltering, the star fell
from it's throne in the sky to the horizon at my feet.

I was unnerved, and turned back the way I had come.
Standing in my path was another fox,
(presumably his mate) she looked into my eyes
then walked calmly away.

It was then that my heart turned to stone.

I **** like a fairy on acid
I could bruise you with the flat of my thumb
Fly my kite way up into the sky
you lay me back, feather bed
tremble anticipating gentle
I know you want to know.
I'm too hard for that ****.

You took me to the top of the highest hill,
nestled me in a Eucalyptus tree,
and laid the city out at my feet.
The view was unmatched
industrial beauty mixed in with the natural Earth.
The Bay in a pool underneath us;
the metal and stone of
city changing constantly.
You give me all the secret places
(in your city and in your heart).
In everything you’ve given me,
loving you has made me richer
than I’ll ever be again in my life.

it’s obnoxiously hard to identify
every year this time
I am in a depressed mood and I don’t
I don’t.

I got a tumblr! Play with me.
http://mirabellewrites.tumblr.com/

On a Wednesday, Thursday driving
by your father's house
I come bearing gifts
but no one is home.

And all I want to do
is give back that
effeminate powder blue shirt
and say good riddance
to your mother's house.

I am twice the size of my mind
a half zipper from being undressed
They say kids with higher IQs do more drugs
because we’re looking for something
there’ve been studies but
I haven’t found anything yet
I’m just shivering dizzy confused lying on your bed
not going to puke.
In your arms you’ve got me safe for some reason.
It takes all my effort to lift my head “What?”
“You’re lovely” you whisper
that’s not what you said the first time I think.
“even now?”
“Sleep, baby”
I always had a thing for boys tellin' me what to do.

I'm a Marketing major thinking about
switching into Advertising
but no one will give me a straight answer
whether or not they're the exact same thing.
I guess no one really gives you a straight answer
when you're a grown up.

But when I go home for the summer I'll be
a child again, and I don't think I'll like it.

Currently the only rebellion afforded to me
are the bevy of boys from high school
who have always wanted to sleep with me
and I have never wanted to sleep with them.
So really that's very unexciting.

There we sped down the highway
leaving town, windows down
going north.
You drive like a bat out of hell, twenty above the speed limit
one hand sneaking up my skirt in the suicide seat.
Can’t keep your ****** hands to yourself.
My head tilted back,
Ignoring you a little bit
to watch the light from the western sun
glint off your new rosary:
semi precious stones and Jesus
dead and ******, oversized in bronze.
Oh, our resounding love
and church qualified sin.
It’s a little too much
how the juxtaposition of our separate lives
crash together in the summer,
when it’s too hot to wear your
penguin suit
little black dress
cassock.

I’m not bitter.

I am up so late
the Yankees fans next door
screaming through the cinder blocks.
Infected all over. I am
exhausted and done with this.
I would  like to go shoe shopping,
but there is 5.00 to my name.
I spent it all on medicine
for this sad little heart.

He planted the heel of his foot
on the paper declaring my D+ in math
didn’t notice didn’t care
not with his hands on my hips
up against the bedroom wall
even with tears hiding behind my eyes
this is more important to him
this is what he comes for
so I keep him a little longer for myself
to forget, evaporate into
a girl wanted for something
a little less than ladylike