Never a meeting,

we just discuss everything --


while we are at it.

Leeza (the 13 year old sister of my roommate Lisa) and I are in the building 220 lobby, heads-down on our phones, waiting for Lisa and Peter (my BF). The lobby is huge and deserted except for a lady concierge at the front desk, a security guard and the doorman - all far away from us. This is by way of explaining that our masks are off - mine hanging, useless, on my left ear.

When this unmasked guy, I was grazingly introduced to at last year’s 220-building Christmas party walks up to us and says, “Anais, Hi. You’re back!”

I flinched. I know a lot of people are over the whole mask thing and the covid thing - and have the temerity to risk it all, but I don’t - did I mention flu season or covid variations? Someone unmasked getting unexpectedly up in my personal space is jarring, rude, and on several levels dangerous and scary.

“Oh, hi,” I said. I vaguely recognized him, but I couldn’t remember his name. He’s one of those guys who’s cutely strange looking. He’s short (5’4”) (nothing wrong with that, short kings, you’re valid), his hair’s dark at the roots but blonde tipped (beach-hair?) and when he smiles, and he smiles a lot, his smile looks too big for his face. I remember he’d seemed socially awkward when we met, and Lisa had said his father is someone important.

“Yeah,” I said, with a shrug, “Holidays again.” I briefly bob up on my toes, to glance over Leeza’s head and to my relief, I see Lisa and Peter coming out of the elevator. I decide to mask up and seeing me do it, Leeza does as well.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “I remember you, but I can’t remember your NAME. I’m an idiot.” I give him my best, ditzy shrug.

He reintroduced himself, “Merritt,” he said, offering his hand and smiling again, still unmasked. As I shook his hand he twisted in Leeza’s direction and said, “Hi Leeza!” She gave him the smallest possible 13-year-old’s courtesy nod.

Peter and Lisa arrived, having masked up. “Merritt, hey!” Lisa said, greeting him warmly. “Have you got senioritis yet?” she asked, cheerfully. “Merritt’s graduating from Brown this year,” she announced, turning to include us all in the good news. “Public policy, ya?” She followed up.
“That’s it,” he confirmed, beaming.
“Congratulations!” I said, nodding.
“Way to go!” Peter added with a “yes” nod.
“Merritt, this is Peter,” Lisa said, taking charge. “He belongs to Anais.” she reported, as they shook hands and exchanged nods. “Merrit,” Lisa said, in a disappointed tone, “I hate to rush off, but we’re in a scramble for a dress fitting,” she lied. Lisa can lie like a politician.

And just like that, in something like 45 seconds she shook-off Merritt - who seems like a very sticky guy indeed - without resorting to mace or anything - Lisa’s got charm.

Thoughts about charm..
My grade, in physics 3 (an A-) was 2-one-hundredths from an A+. I almost certainly (like 85%) could have charmed the professor for that tiny bit. We’ve all seen it done - you put on a self-effacing smile and say, “I’m so close, is there something I can do for extra credit?” But I can’t DO it, physically, I can’t say the words and beg for grades. It’s like I can picture my mom watching me having to beg for something she earned, and I’d be mortified to even try. It’s my small disadvantage, a self-imposed handicap.

Besides, if I did betray my code, there’s the awful chance the professor might say no - and that would **** me.

Lisa, on the other hand, wouldn’t actually have to charm. She’d ask about her grade, periodt. The teacher, seeing there’s something he or she could do for this goddess - would just do it. With no asking involved.

Imagine you’re an airline agent and Beyonce´ stepped up to your station. She has a little problem you could effortlessly fix with a click of your mouse. Would you, do it? Hells-yes you would and before she even asked. “It’s already done,” you’d say - just to have Queen Bey smile at you.

The rest of us have to work at it (sigh) - and take our chances..

Just to add to what John said
with regards to the points
raised by Emily when she echoed
the arguments presented earlier
by Kevin

Without overlooking
the guidance that was reiterated
by the Deputy Director
about the need
for swift action from us

I propose we form a committee
composed of people in this meeting
who will meet later
to put the issue on the table

cut it open with a scalpel
expose the underlying problems
analyze and put it back with nine stitches
then we can report
that the first draft
is ready

Bookends with fatty livers and bad backs
squinting at instructions
for another **** fool distraction
and the laughing, thankfully

On the walk, bees, butterflies,
catkin reminders of time and loops
and irregular pooping
as constants

Thankfully, laughing
requires just enough muscles
from those that still work,
but I’ll feel it tomorrow

a small group of individuals
bound by the intersectionality
of their detriments
meet;

and although alone we stand
in head and heart and hand
together the mind and the heart gave birth
to something each of us forgot were worth:

when we are together, a real person is born
not through the perceptivity of gore and of ****-
but of virtue and strength being visible not
to anyone other than us 3 who forgot.

Light shines off the lines of old paint brush strokes on smudged oil paint,
Vintage bubbles, worn from countless fingers, notebooks, pencils,
the accruements of learning, teaching, and thinking.
I can imagine the hands that painted these surfaces,
These old desks, missing drawers, staggered six feet from each other,
Social distanced under the gaze of outdated television screens,
Confined within these walls, peeling paint, under stained ceiling tiles.
Those hands were tired, they held the brush with a practiced hand that wasn't dried out from hand sanitizer,
They spilt paint on the floor, left stains, let paint run down the sides of the desks -
Those trails still stay in certain light, they gleam from the shadows,
Not visible to the Zoom attendants.

I met a girl once,
With eyes like pools of light,
And as I fell right into them,
Swallowed by the whites,
I saw the reflection
Of the world and sky,
Fragments of beauty,
That shimmered with life,
And when her tears fell,
They sparkled and curled
Etching on her face,
The story of the world,
Speaking softly of all
The places she’d been,
Painting with wonder
The things she’d seen,
She tracked the earth’s trails
And sailed its seven seas,
Swaying from place to place,
Like leaves in the breeze,
And though her feet were sore,
Her footsteps never failed,
Creasing in the earth,
A path that never paled,
And everywhere she went,
She left a piece behind,
Watering the landscape,
With the rain she had inside,
But all she gave,
Nature repaid fast ,
Inking on her body,
A story that would last,
And though she was alone,
Had no place to call her own,
She knew the world around her
well enough to call it home.

I am not an angry woman
Though you try to make me so
I’m scrupulous. And sentient
And more than you’ll ever know.

I realise now, I don’t know you either
Not your song, only what you show
I don’t know your passions or your vices
Or what thoughts, through you, flow.

Thus, in that living equinox,
On that line in the sand,
Between all of me and all of you
We make our momentary stand.
You can have me as I choose
I won’t be carved by your hand.

So, look not, oh stranger, for my rage
For such a thing is but infernal
Instead, find in me an endless love
For I am Olga and I am, Eternal.