Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”

All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?

Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday.  I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.

So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.

We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.

Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl

I’ve moved out (of school),
I’m moving in (to school).
My joke is that I’m having a ‘moving experience.’

Graduating college (3 days ago) was a dream come true
I’m starting a master’s degree in 7 days.
You have to admire the efficiency.

Do I have your permission to bear my soul?
I might have imposter syndrome.
I’m a harsh critic—of everything—but mostly me.

I’m over the romance and pressure of school.
I’m starting the romance and pressure of school.
Don’t worry, this isn’t hapless, sad girl literature.

Or a diary—it’s a portrayal of my inner life.
.
.
A song for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Messy by Lola Young [E]

Somewhere in another life—

I have a family. All together under one roof,
not a single thing is discernible in the jovial
chatter, all amongst the other like
water skeeters, stones on a clear, glass pond
Rivulets of honey slipping betwixt to become a laugh on another’s lips

In adjacent rooms, we whisper gleefully,
someone is finger combing through my
hair absently, past the casement windows
there is an ochre radiance that
the morning glories vine around
and the deer in the fields observe
inquisitively, drawn to us in the powder blue evening

Like licorice, slippery elm and dates
Long socks and linen, hands caked in
flour—

Effervescent, a little salt, a dream


Somewhere.

she took my picture,
that's how it started
that's how i knew,
she took my picture
off the refrigerator door

when your picture is taken off
the refrigerator
like dust off a knick knack shelf

you do the dishes,
you have to wash your own socks.

the refrigerator is cursed
like a lost winning lottery ticket.
cursed with pictures of dead pets,
dead aunt's, cousins, grandma...

(my picture rip off the fridge like $#@#$#@...)


the fridge hums its song,
warm on the outside
and cold on the inside.

you *******, i shout,
and i punched the fridge,
packed my suitcase,

grabbed my fishing pole
and out the front door
I went.

half way down the sidewalk,
I turned

and there was little Jack
looking out the window at me.

(tears ran down my cheeks.)

MAN! I'm gonna miss that dog!!!

When beauty gets down low
To speak to me
I think of you
Neath that shady tree

The chlorophyll packs the leaves so tight
The veins resist with all their might
To store life for the months to come
They greedily swallow the light

I remember laying in the grass
Our eyes on each other still
Your smile matched your pretty dress
The sun transited the hill

We didn't notice it's passage
Till we felt the chill
Till all was shadow
We stood and turned without a word
Our last day on the meadow.

It is beautiful;
was the sky always this blue
and lucid with creme lent away by
the heaven's tears?

It is beautiful;
were the oceans always this vast
and dark with the mystique of the millennia
chipped away at stone, like a forsaken
mason?

It is beautiful;
were the peaks and valleys always this detailed
wrinkled with strokes of cosmic paint, ridged like
a sheet of linen?

It is beautiful;
was the sky always as blue as the oceans?
Were the mountains always higher than the waves?
Was the snow always mingling with the clouds?

It is beautiful;
and, what a wonderful world
for us to borrow
for a just moment.

The moonlit sky hovers
a dark and empty street
A night submerged with wonder
and stillness

In a blissful voice, the night sang
about a faraway land,
where the pastures danced
and summer was everlasting

Lustrous knights roam the land
and the goblins lurks in the shadow
Like the darkness I lay on
As my bones relish in the calm
of this wonderful night

Like a sweet hymn of orchestra
The wind blew and the night was soft
Pearly snowflakes falling gently
into a winter land

She walks out of the house
with her gleaming eyes
Her blonde hair drifting in the wind
while the white dress clings to her
like an artic flag,
basking in the fine hour

She looks up and sees the snow falling
down her face and hands
And she searches for warmth, her arms stretched
toward the frost-bitten sky

Slowly dancing and spinning
Following her own rhythm
A silent poinsettia garden, blooming
Tracing the shape of her tender smile
That was warm in the midst of winter