It was a year that looked good on checks,
at the top of every newspaper: 2013.
I grew thin running laps around Toluca
Lake, thinking the whole time it was a poor substitute
for the ocean. I was employed and in love in
Oklahoma City. I was unemployed and alone
in Tuscumbia, Alabama. Everything was blind.
Everything was deaf, my desire buried in salt
and coffee lingered on my breath. 2013. I'm younger.
I'm stronger. I'm persistent and there's an actual comb in my actual hair.
And I'd pass by you like a jewelry store window, my mind
half a brick. Shatter the modest glass. Mazel tov? Do you know what
that means? What good fortune. Why do they say what good
fortune? It's a compact lesson in reframing. And I frame myself
for ******. And I frame myself on the refrigerator. And I frame
my last check. And I frame my arguments on my back, in a swimming
pool, thinking of Toluca Lake.