Each sorrow is the child of a happiness
you thought would never end;
Every happiness is a sadness
I may not survive—
a brilliant October day
lying back in dock hammock suspended
quoting bits of Rilke and starlight anthems
the shadows cast by buildings and frogs
ink drawings made on August nights
by our beautiful chain-smoking artistette
admiring a giant spider friend who’d
spun her majestic web and vanished
while we were swimming
backdrop of bay and boys and cherries
creaky boardwalks under bare feet
and stickiest pine and sand darkness
photos over wing clouds below
creepy call to prayer from ancient Mosque
at twilight punctuating strange dreams
perfect reconciliation on hotel balcony
McDonald’s after soaring from Black Sea
to Bosporus Straight, edge of Asia
visible on the horizon and all of life
a nightmare from which I can’t get woke
terrorized by ***** donor bonesaws
homophobic maternal afternoon rejection
peace that passeth no understanding
when you’re a ******* genius or just
a few points lower sorry never enough
compassion leaking through pores
drawn out by steam more darkness
Eucalyptus perfumed
another flaccid experience on a stranger’s
bed recalling Hippocrates on the drive
away after more bad ***
shots of sauces and grilled roasted
poached lentils bespoke chickens finery
malodorous wafts limestone smoothed
by centuries of acidity oily tourist touches
but they’re in Mexico Australia India
we’re back at home twins calling
each day an error of time rounded off
the incorrigible quark refusing
to cooperate with Einstein choosing its
own entangled path and lighting fools
what beautiful skyline
what amazing celebrity capture
what nostalgic group assemblage
what **** cute puppy who’s no more pup
what swanky tailored look
what smiles what smiles what seriousness
the soft and supple features curves lines
practiced looks and wayward hairs
a simple flourishing according to the lens
so much that skin conceals and eyes
beer garden sidewalk orations
wedding after party for April fools
we were who dance grabbing rings
swinging wildly discussing the vulgarities
of gastronomy and digestion
tumbling into diners midnight offices
brick lined streets magical talks
demonstrations and ideas unbounded
carving pumpkins into likable politicians
we think are statesmen and wailing
when she loses winning a trophy case
buckling under weight of moral victory
the thought of skyscrapers lit
shining under heaven unsubtle insinuation
we’re better than all this nonsense
and stronger having raised this glass
and steel by our own hands, our parents
rather now maybe that’s confusion
erecting higher stairwells to escape
encroaching seas and bums below
all memory all happy every laugh
each rumination on the hours
kisses cocktails cuddles laughter
that perfect vest completed outfit
those thrift store jeans that shirt
that secondhand one speed bike
those lunches with the priest
those brunches with the students
those happy hours with the coworkers
those dinners with the beard
all interchangeable parts in show
theater of recollection one subway car
one taxi ride one bus to NY or DC
one flight to Seattle or Vegas
or some Floridian seascape, mansion
each cog or bit like paper currency
imbued with no value but buying
the totality of lived experience
from which to draw upon in sad elsewhere
—but they cut deep, well meaning though
whenever was now isn’t and can is blind
to what day will ever be when I can say
in truth now sadness isn’t.

It’s Sunday morning. It’s bright and cool, the sort of fall morning that makes the world’s problems seem like fake news. Peter and I are at the Marriott Courtyard, off campus. This morning’s breakfast is Peter’s 19th birthday present to me.

I’m redorkulously happy and surprisingly hungry. Somewhere, in the noisy, happy sounding kitchen, there's a bacon, cheddar-cheese, tomato, ham, green-pepper, and spinach omelette being convoked in my name, and my tummy is growling in anticipation.

Our waiter brought us large white mugs of nutmeg coffee - God bless her for that. Sipping it, I scanned the dining room, where carefree, normal people were enjoying their brunches. They didn’t look like they had hours of reading and problem-sets (homework) waiting for them later - but who knows?

Peter leaned forward, smiling, to refill my mug and then, when adding some cream, he almost overfilled it. I couldn’t help chuckling. I enjoy this awkward man’s company beyond all sanity, to the point that it’s a little cringy and embarrassing. Our smiles seemed to clang together, like symbols. I wish I could bask in the warmth of that smile all day.

“You could do me a favor,” I say shyly, “a little extra present?” I said, trying to look pitiable.
“What?” he asks, with a skeptical look. I open my bag and pull out my latest physics PSET (a homework problem set).
“This problem haunted me in my dreams last night,” I say, smoothing out the wrinkled paper and rotating it so it was right-side-up for him. “#6,” I said, confirming that with a pointing finger.

He glances at it. “Ahh, classical mechanics?” he guessed. “Right,” I confirmed.
He looks up at me through his bushy, blue-black eyebrows, “You took AP physics one in high school and physics 2 last year?” He asked. “Yeah,” I confirmed, “but this problem is throwing me.”

“Well,” he says, motioning me to hand him my pen, “you’re perspicacious all right, but you’re basically a biology major,” he begins, “a set of studies that involve a memorization mentality. For physics one and two, I bet you memorized Maxwell's laws, the Kinematic equations and the table of equation cases, ya?”
I nodded yes.

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to cut it here,” he says, shaking his head, “All of those nice simplifications aren’t in play here - there are no cases to rely on - it’s derive as you go.” As he explained this he was briskly scribbling something on a paper napkin and the answer was there, on that, a second later, when he rotated the paper back to me.

His eyes are a dark, gingerbread brown, but despite that darkness, they seemed warm and lit from within. A swoop of his dark blue-black hair has fallen across his forehead, I leaned over the small table to tuck it back into place. “Thank you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief, “did you show your work?” I asked as I folded the paper and napkin away.
“Of course,” he says, amused, “but we’ll review it later,” he assured me.

“Happy birthday ME!” I said, in a whispered cheer.
“Yes,” he grinned, “Happy Birthday, YOU,” he pronounced as our omelettes arrived

I hadn't been there in ages, hadn't visited, I had no reason to
But then the Covid virus struck and Dublin where I was working was put into quarantine
I wasn't allowed to go up there anymore to work,
And I had no computer at home and no broadband/ WiFi at the time
So they sent me down to the Old Town
It was nice driving down the motorway, it was Autumn and the leaves they were all changing colour
The different shades of red, brown green and yellow
With the sun shining on the mountains and on the bay
It felt almost like I was going on my holidays,
The Old Town it had changed so much, there were all these new buildings,
Retail parks on the outskirts, hotels, new schools, civic buildings... coffee shops
It was lovely and clean and tidy
Like those living there were really proud of it,
The old town I'd known it was there also, in the background, a bit dusty now
There was the big old gothic church my Dad used take us to, to Mass some Sundays
There was the Port and the big ships along the Quay
There was the secondary school I was meant to go to... had we stayed...it looked old, a bit dilapidated now
I wondered was it still being used as a school,
In the Main Street there were still old names of shops that I recognized
The shoe shop where my Mom used buy us shoes
The chemist where my brother got his glasses... the Bakery
The cinema where we seen our first movie "The Magnificent Seven", it was all done up now... all different...
In the office things were... well...weird! ghostly!
A big modern office and some days I was the only one there, just me all on my own
Was like something out of a Sci-fi movie
Other days maybe two or three might come in to join me
All the others of course, they were all working from home,
Often I'd find my mind just filling with old memories and nostalgia...
I could hear the old ghosts calling, calling me to go back
I knew... I knew I had to go back there
Back to where it had all begun for me
The little seaside village where I was born.

So going home I took the coastal road not the motorway
Just the sight of the headland and the blue mountains sloping down to the sea
With the lighthouse there at the end
Just seeing them again gave me an old feeling of my father, my Dad
And then the village itself, the seafront... all the colourfully painted shops,
Sweet shops & novelty shops, the amusement arcade, pubs and hotels and B&B's  (Bed and Breakfasts)
After being away for nearly fifty years, it still looked...it still looked pretty much the same, was hard to believe
I stopped my car and went into a little supermarket shop to get a sandwich for the next day
As I looked around, I seen these two mature ladies there, they were around my own age
I thought to myself 'I might have gone to school with you once many years ago, one of you might even have been my wife had we stayed here and not moved away
I might have lived a more normal, a different life'
But then I thought 'Life is never that simple, is it'.
Outside I decided to go for a walk, to look around and reminisce.

There was the path, the pavement I used go to school on with my brothers
It was like returning to the scene of a crime
How I used to dread going to school sometimes
There was a teacher, a lady teacher that used scare me a lot, she terrified me so
I remember I got sick in class on several occasions
She put me outside once sitting on an upturned bin
I can still remember sitting there on that bin in the sun, feeling so lost and that I was a really bad boy, wishing I was home
I remember I used to get hives, itches on my skin
My Mom used keep me at home
She was afraid, she thought I'd give them to the other kids
I missed the addition and subtraction tables at school because of this
To this day I still don't know what 7 + 5 is, instead I bring it to 10, I know 5 is 3 + 2, so I say 7 + 3 is 10 and 2 is 12
And I know all the doubles, 7 + 6 is 6 + 6 is 12 and 1 is 13, funny that
How I used to dread going to school
Until that was... until one day I did well at something and I received some praise
Then things seemed to change after that, I wasn't as bothered anymore, I think then I realized I was doing better than some of the others in my class and that seemed to make a difference
I remembered sitting beside pretty little girls who used have lovely pink pencil cases with lots of fancy colourful things
Whereas me I barely had a pencil, a rubber (eraser) and a ruler
They were strange lovely creatures, the Girls with their lovely long hair and their cute little faces...
I remembered walking home on my own, with my little schoolbag on my back with all my books in it
It was such a beautiful place, the view with the beach and the sea and the faraway blue mountains
And yet, I used to worry about so many things
It's like even then it was all about...all about survival...
There was the big Chapel on the hill
Once before the Summer holidays they were looking for altar boys and someone put my name forward
Then on the first morning back to school after the Summer holidays
The teacher said you better get down to the church right away, like fast!! you're on the altar this morning !!!
I was terrified, I didn't know what I had to do, no one told me anything
So there I was on my own kneeling on this cold hard marble altar and it was hurting my knees something terrible
And the priest he's talking about God and the Devil and Evil or Hell or whatever
And all these people, the whole congregation their all staring up at us
And I'm petrified, and I started to get faint and nauseas
The priest had to stop the Mass
I can't remember if I got sick or passed out
I was so embarrassed and thought afterwards I was such a terrible bad person, I knew it'd be all around the school the story.

I walked on...our house was gone, knocked down, where there used to be three houses together attached, now there was only the end house
Our house used to be the middle house
It didn't look right now, the symmetry looked all wrong
It was like there was two missing teeth
Why did they have to knock it down ? I wondered. It saddened me a bit...

At another house I stopped, this used to have a shop, a small shop,  the shop was no longer there
This was my Best Friend's house, all the days we used to play football together in the back garden
Kicking the ball to each other
With our jumpers/ sweaters as goalposts
The first to score ten would win the game
I...I usually won
I always found you easy to read, it's like you only ran in straight lines,
I think you were a bit in awe of me for some reason
Maybe you wouldn't have been my friend if you'd beaten me
How did we become friends anyway, I wondered
I suppose coming home from school
We lived on the same road and were in the same class, we'd have met each other
I had two older brothers whereas you were the oldest
So our families would have had a different dynamic
I remember you had a delightfully silly younger brother
I remember your Mom, she was very pretty, she was a lot younger than my Mom
You used bring me in and give me a meal sometimes, we'd all sit and watch TV
There was a different feeling when I was in your house...a different atmosphere
But when your Dad would come home, he was a bit scary
And I knew it was then time for me to go home
You'd wonder afterwards what the lovely Mom saw in the scary Dad, adults they were a bit peculiar.

We were inseparable in those days, many mornings you'd hear the knock on the door
And the familiar greeting
"Hello Mrs B---, Is G---- in, is he coming out to play?"
We were always playing soccer up the garden
Or down on the beach, going out for miles to meet the tide, catching *****, looking under  stones to see what we might find
I remember we were very entrepreneurial
In the Summer we used collect returnable glass mineral bottles, Orange and Lemonade and Coca Cola
And we'd bring them back to the shop and get money back for them
And then we'd have a royal feast, we'd buy bottles of Orange and bags of crisps and ice cream pops and chocolate bars,
Remember all the different Ice pops there used to be, Choc Ices and Brunches and Orange splits, 99's... Ice cream cones
Chocolate bars, Smarties and Malteasers, Milky Bars and Milky Ways, Dairy Milk chocolate bars, fruit gums and Love hearts with little love messages written on them
We used hang around the amusement arcade, play the slot machines, maybe help some old lady collect her winnings, she might give us a tip
There was the bumper cars and the swingboats and music playing all the time on the jukeboxes
It was the seventies (the 70's) and glam rock was all the rage
Marc Bolan and T-Rex, and Slade and The Sweet and a million others
So many great songs, we couldn't wait to grow up and become one of those amazing creatures we saw on the telly
I'd never lived since as intensely as I did back then,
We'd stay out till late
We were like young hustlers going around,
It seemed the days they were never long enough, all the things we got up to,
We'd Caddy in the local golf course
And retrieve lost ***** from the ditches...
Heh! Remember... remember that time... the Brennan sisters, we were up one day near the school
There was building work going on
And there was this big high mound of clay
So we climbed to the top to take in the view
And then the two Brennan sisters came over
They lived nearby
They were in our class at school, we knew them only to see
They were smiling and laughing and giggling
They beckoned for us to come and follow them
We went wondering what was going on here
They led us back to their house, I think their parents must have been out
One of them came up to us and smiled
And then she pulled down her pants and showed it to us in all its wonderful glorious splendour
It was amazing... incredible... such a sight
Her beautiful...her splendid... her lovely... bare Bottom!
I remember thinking it was like a lovely ripe pear
One of Life's great mysteries had just been unveiled
And her there with this huge impish grin,
When we were going home we promised each other we'd not tell anyone, our parents, not even the priest in confession
About that great vision we'd just witnessed
It was the height of naughtiness
Yea! Those were the days...

I wondered, 'Whatever became of you Old Friend ?
I looked you up online but couldn't find your name anywhere, couldn't find anything about you
Were you even still alive ?
50 years was a long time, I'd barely made it this far myself, and I had a lot of scars to show for it
I thought rather amusingly that I should knock on your door
Maybe you were still living there,
But what was I hoping to find ? I wondered...
"Whose at the door ?", a woman's Voice inside might say,
"Just... just some crazy guy talking about 50 years ago" her dutiful husband would reply
That's probably how it would go
I felt like I was Rip Van Winkle awakening after being asleep for 100 years or in my case 50 years
What did I hope to find
What did I hope to see, an old man now just like myself
And I bet you'd tell me your opinions on the government and the economy
And how the village had changed over the years and how other old schoolmates of ours had got on in life
But No! that's not what I wanted to hear or see
I wanted to see you there again just like you were as a little kid
Your lovely youthful face smiling back at me
And you'd say, "I'll get the ball and we'll have a game, the first to ten wins"
This was what I was looking for, this was what I wanted to hear.

We were very close, were going to grow up together, go to the same schools...college
We'd always be friends
We'd meet all the trials of life together....
I hope Life worked out well for you, my friend
In a way...in a way I almost didn't want to know
If I learned you did well in Life I'd probably only get jealous
I'd start to think I was better than you and that I should have had those things you had
Life, this world it makes enemies of us all... eventually
It divides, is all about competing and comparing... and beating (I suppose).

I still remember that last night before I left forever
We were down on the beach, it was twilight, the tide was coming in... the waves slowly advancing
Just like in life I had no power to stop it, to change things,
I had no say, I didn't want to go and leave you Old Friend
No! I didn't want to go....

Thank you...thank you for being my friend, for being there
For all the time you gave me, I hope I didn't hurt you in any way.

I have a photograph, one solitary old black and white photo of the two of us
We're sitting on a barrel in our back garden on either side of my Dad whose in the middle
You look a bit uncertain, unsure of yourself, probably lost in the dynamic of my family,
I look at you and I think
"Whatever happened to you.... Beautiful Friend, whatever became of you"
And then I look at myself as well, and I think, I whisper
"Whatever became of me as well".

I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,  
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.

Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.

We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.

We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.

Come in all you children and dance upon the sea. The coastline tides are dancing and gallivanting on the breeze. The elephant seals are floating in their carcasses, warm blood lakes thicken on the foam, dancing in the ripples the shivers of Leopard sharks party's throw. ***** slugs and combatants, early hours send cries through crustaceans of the spine, and glitter muscles entwined with porpoise to drink their brunches with new recipes of the brine. Fairy starling, aching heartache, shapes each coil of the coast, and tears apart the stardust of starfish sliding up the coast. Drinking from the salt licks that falling waters move, inside the bay the bluefins escape the hunters in their shoals.  The itsy bitsy great white, crept into the beaches cove, but orca and dolphin chased him back into the deepest azures where the fur seals pup and milk.

Weddings begin with the venue. “A venue holds everything,” says Kristin King, who is opening a new event facility, The Sloane, in Nashville’s Gulch area in 2016.

“It’s the vibe, the feeling. It’s the house for the event,’’ she adds. “It gives the whole feeling of what you’re trying to convey. Where you have an event, is to me, one of the most important things. You can dress it up however you want to, but it sends the message of what you want your guests to know about you as a couple.”

King, who has been in the bridal business for about a decade, says she envisions creating the ultimate event venue in the historic 1101 Grundy Street building. When complete, the 6,000-square-foot facility will house an office/bridal suite, glass tower showcasing the Nashville skyline, catering kitchen and double-sided elevator for vendors.

“A venue really dictates how many people they’re going to have at their wedding,” says Randi Lesnick of Nashville’s Randi Events. “If somebody picks a venue that’s great for 150 people, and they want to have 350, well that venue’s out.

“Pick the venue first, and then you can always worry about everything else.”

Book far in advance

With hearts set on the venue, plan for a date at least a year, but no less than six or nine months out from the desired date, before securing the location.

“It’s grown so fast, and I don’t think anybody knows how to deal with it,” Lesnick explains of the competition for wedding venues in Tennessee, particularly in Nashville and Gatlinburg.

“For 2016 we have almost every Saturday booked already. So if someone wants a specific date, we do recommend that they book at least a year out.”

Booking well in advance can have other benefits, says Lindsay Barrows of Custom Love Gifts and Events in Knoxville, who is also part of the Smoky Mountain Wedding Professionals Association.

“I worked with a bride who ended up saving a lot of money on her venue and some of her vendors because she booked so far in advance that when they changed their prices the following year when her wedding actually was – she had already locked in prices from the previous year,” Barrows adds.

Lesnick notes a venue could run anywhere from $2,000 to $10,000, and the overall wedding could run $30,000 to $100,000. And, if it is an outdoor wedding there should always be a backup.

“Brides have a lot of dreams,” says Sarah Anne Miller, director of weddings at Randi’s. “They look at more of the décor and the prettiness of the wedding and not really the logistical part of it. They want an outdoor wedding for 200 people in September, you’ve got to think about weather.”

Five weeks after the Omni opened in 2013, it hosted its first wedding. It had about 20 last year and seven already on the books, and there are even three scheduled for 2017.

“The typical wedding is still booking about a year out,” says Shirley Langguth, assistant director of catering at Omni Hotels. The Omni has multiple wedding ceremony locations picked out onsite, and also hosts numerous day-after wedding brunches.

More details

Once the venue is nailed down, couples can move on to every other detail that needs addressing, from flowers and dress to catering and cake.

“I want to meet with somebody as soon as they know what their venue is because there are only so many in a weekend that we can deliver and create,” says Juanita Lane, owner of Dulce Desserts in Edgehill Village, about her torte-layered wedding cakes. “Once they’ve secured the venue, then I would suggest it’s time to start looking at your vendors.”

Lane hosts two tastings at Dulce, the first one just to see if the couple even likes them. The second is when they bring out the numerous cakes, curds and frostings to create the ultimate custom confection.

Couples can now get that full-on tasting experience at Dulce Dessert’s brand new cake tasting bar.

“People can basically come in and do slices of cake and enjoy the Dulce experience,” Lane adds. “The thing that used to be reserved for brides or people having large events, the general population can do now at their leisure.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

Doubled over Stella cans

crawling from last night's 10p home.

Late brunches for the new majority

waking within a block who's characters are now alone.



Previously untouched by the new,

the heavily worn and stained wooden

chair now longing for stories of the few.

The old exacerbated, they couldn't



see it coming. Their home.

Now a haven for the new.

A new Mecca for creativity with no retreat

For those left behind.



Doubled over Stella cans.

This used to be free the old fuss.

Now there's no home for them.

Their 10p shelters gone with a gust.

In my father’s cosmology, God rose late come Sunday morning,
Having wreaked His vengeance by proxy the night before,
And it was a given that we greeted the Sabbath
With whispers and sock-soft tiptoe,
Knowing that his belt (black, wide, thick with implicit warnings)
Hung within easy reach of the bed,
Though sometimes, with no more explanation than
Man alive, what a beautiful world it is today!
Cold cornflake brunches would be postponed
(Our wonder mixed with consternation and rumbling stomachs)
As we would be whisked into the car
In order to sing His praises, our father all but jumping from the car,
Heading toward the preacher at a trot,
Invariably greeting him with Devil’s on holiday, Father,
So here I am (the church was Lutheran,
Though it could have been a mosque for all he cared.)
He’d sit through the sermon, rapt and at attention,
Alternately scowling and smiling, knitting his brow and nodding,
And then he would corner the incumbent occupant of the pulpit
(He’d have scarcely noticed, if at all, that the leadership of the flock
Often changed hands between our cicada-esque appearances)
Backing him into a wall or against a railing
While he jabbered away, pointing or grabbing a sleeve in punctuation,
Gesturing like some latter-day Prospero, arms ****** Heavenward
To embrace the air, the sky, the whole of the cosmos, amen,
While the pastor’s gaze varied from bemusement to outright horror.
Such occasions were outliers, of course,
Father being much more inclined
To spend his Saturday evenings in un-Christian pursuits
Then stagger home singing a litany of done-me-wrong songs,
And his search for a joyful hundred-proof clarity
Ended before he glimpsed fifty, that being time enough
(So the pathologist noted in his final judgment)
For his liver to become elephantine, his kidneys mere pebbles
(Those effects, be they deleterious or otherwise,
Not listed explicitly nor in the footnotes
Which accompanied the post mortem.)

she watched slowly as her mother came later in the night
and her father no longer came home after work
and her sister sleepover at her friend’s house
and her brother lock himself in his room the thumping of the bass vibrating both their walls
and she saw as no one showed up at their weekly sunday brunches.
or when no one was there for breakfast
and no one showed up for dinner
and she never saw her sister anymore
and when she knocked on her mother’s bedroom door in the morning there was never a response
and she missed it,
she missed sunday brunches with her family and no one missing out because her father was the best cook in their family
and when she baked cookies or a big coconut cake for just the five of them on friday nights,
because the were watching the james bond movies or the lion king series all in one night
and she missed it,
because now on sunday mornings she got takeout from ihop and sat at the table alone
glancing at the clock till it read 1.00 and then she picked up the other four plates and washed the clean plates anyway, and on friday nights she’d bake a cake anyway with no one there to eat it.

Trips to Shanghai taking photographs
of junks that were full of bones
Forgotten pixels stashed in the cover
of shade in the corner of the room
drawings in pastel paint brushed on the walls
You fell from the sky and crashed into my eye
I flew from the ground and landed in your thighs
Crucifix Sunday's and brunches in mobs
We drank the nectar of Pine trees
and redeemed our throbbed wrongs

"All walk the path of life,
But only fools attempt to walk alone"
My thoughts echoed as I sat
In my head a little light shone

It grew until it was blinding
And then I realized I was a fool
More so than I previously accused myself of
I was on the right track to lose

Up until now I thought only the weak
Needed others to use like crutches
But the older I grow, the more it is known
It is nice to have someone over for brunches

Not just a friend or a confidant
But someone with which to share a deeper comfort
That slick combination of chemistry and attraction
It's always two more than one that life is fun for

To share and to care and to be there
For each other when the darkness rears it's head again
And for when the light decides to show it's face
I've said it before and I'll say it again
Won't you stay here, with me, in this ever-changing state of place?

The momentary confines
And the viscosity of this remembering
It sticks to my throat
And I think of ways to love
Beyond the way of words
Beyond the everyday exchange
But to hold on to everything
Past and future in these frail hands
Sew them deep into the leftover stains
From Sunday brunches
And midnight snacks

At ease
You tell me
I listen, I listen, I listen

The pain of telling stories
Clutches onto my chest
I wish I could tell you what hurts
And what doesn't

But I listen, I listen, and listen

I’m going to warn you
That all I need is a promise
That I will never turn around
And wonder where you went.
You are going to promise me
That you don't plan on
Going anywhere
Anytime soon.
I am going to trust you
I am going to let you
Inside the part of me
Usually reserved.
I will show you all of the
Broken pieces left by others
And you will promise that
You can fix them over time.
I will let you show me your side of Boston
And we are going to go to brunches and museums and piers
And I will wake up in your arms, watching your smile
And I will laugh at you as you laugh at me laughing
And I will finally see how I can be, how guys can be
And I will fall deeply and crazily in love with you.
I’m going to warn you
That all I need is a promise
That I will never turn around
And wonder where you went.
You are going to promise me
That you don’t plan on
Going anywhere.
One
Day
Chaos
Ensues
And you will need to leave.
You will shut yourself away
Because you will feel the weight
Of the world fighting against you
And who you want to be for me.
And I will miss you greatly.
You will hide from the world
And from the love I want to give you.
I will finally see all of your
Broken pieces left by others
That you hid so well.
I’m going to warn you
That I can make you a promise
That you will never turn around
And wonder where I went.
I am going to promise you
That I don't plan on
Going anywhere.

I still do not know why you left the way you did. So quick, it was like I turned around for a second and you took it as your opportunity. But you couldn't see that when you left, you kicked up dirt from running away so fast. It got caught in my eye, and now I can't see the same.

I remember one night, we were up until 4:00 in the morning finishing my mothers jigsaw puzzle. It was set up on the dining room table where I sat, and you were standing on the very same chair I was sitting on. Hovering over me, you said it gave you a better view, I just thought it was going to **** your back being bent over the way you were tomorrow morning.  
We were silent, the only sound heard was the sound of your breathing and mine, occasionally matching in sync. You would stretch your arm above me to reach for a piece, and the other would rest itself on my head, gently scratching at my scalp, how soothing.
To any onlooking eyes, it would seem rather strange. The position we were in was in no way normal, but that's how most of our situations ended up being, far from it.
When we finally finished, after hours of contemplation on whether or not we should complete the task, and small remarks with giggles as responses, you stepped down from the chair and grabbed a glass of water as a token of victory, I still remember the way you smiled when you looked at the finished product.
We slept that night apart, but together. You were on one end of the sectional and I was on the other, because we were both too afraid of what the other might say. But right as I started to descend into sleep, you made your way to my end, laid behind me and whispered into my ear that I was great. It was bound to happen, we were like two magnets, always finding our way to each other.

But now it seems like we are the opposite ends, the magnets now fighting against each other, refusing to meet.
So I'm sitting here, a whole year later, finishing another puzzle that I didn't start, but this time I'm all alone. I can't seem to figure out how a picture distorted into 500 different pieces could make me so sad, but somehow it managed. This time you aren't here too encourage me to keep going even though it's 2 in the morning and I'm half asleep. Tonight I am not sleeping on my couch with you by my side and I do not have a stupid smile across my face. In fact, I can't remember the last time I did.

You ripped away from me, there were no more spontaneous texts letting me know you were stopping by, no more staying over late, and saying goodbye when the sun came up.
We were everything. We were Sunday brunches, we were midnight ice cream splurges, we were the song you blasted in your car driving down an empty road.

And now?
We are nothing .

Sometimes I miss my family so much, the weekend brunches, the shopping the laughing the fighting. When is missing too much? And when do we choose what's right for us? How do we know where we are or what we are doing is right? Sometimes I wonder if would be easier back home but I enjoy challenges, but maybe I'm starting to recognize that I have family. Some who have passed and I know what life is worth. The beauty of someone you love living is so precious and I believe should be cherished. But to what degree? If we all stayed near our family would we be consumed by comfort? Is that a bad thing? Or Oder all left the nests. Would that be selfish? Would then be the regret we hoped to not have in life when we choose to leave in hopes to never regret not leaving. What's right? We will never know. 4 years of a precious souled nephew I have has passed in his 6 years of age. And the niece well she's two. Sometimes I'm the one who feels like I'm missing out. On life. As it unfolds and grows. And for what? I am lucky. I am grateful. I have a serious need to search and find happiness. My sister once told me places don't make you happy whose around you does. Guaranteed she and I don't make each other happy all the time and thinking of going back to be able to hold her each day makes that thought worth all the loss and gain. I love them. That feeling is real and true. Something I have taken for granted. But could I live? In a small town once again? I could for the love of my family. But I fear my boredom. Because being around ppl gives me an undrugged high. Something that I crave. I crave the ppl who don't know me, the ppl who shouldn't matter but for some strange reason I have a strong comfort in that. My family, they know everything. They can see right through me. And yes they call it out; as they should. Going back home can be exhaustingly draining, but I appreciate the reality check, and I appreciate the love they give without hugs, I know it's there, because they know the real me. The real me who has such troubles no one could ever see. The real me no one in this world would wish to be. Drownding in an ocean. Floating on a wave. That's the peace I feel in the small towns. With slowly driving by faces pass I might know from the tiny tiny town, a daze I have from the years I spent drained and weak, literally unable to speak. Those memories stay when I go back. But the memories of real love, real friendship, real happiness, real music, real health, that's all there too. And so is my family. I wish they would move. I suppose I'm just not ready to leave NYC yet. Time will tell and I will remain comfortable by that thought. But the more I visit the more I miss them. Family is everything. I believe in that, and I'm thankful for the little family I have.

that stupid saying
how does it
go
if he loves you, he’ll try
if he likes you, he’ll call
if he likes you, he’ll make an effort
why do women analyze this **** so much
why do women spend their days, brunches, dinners, date nights analyzing every single detail of their relationships
i was once one of these women
oh
maybe it means THIS
maybe it means THAT
if a man is ******, he’s ******
sure he’s conflicted, holding onto trauma from years past that’s making him act like an *******
but that’s no excuse to deal with someone ******
tell that ******* to see a therapist and find yourself a man that makes it clear the way he feels about you
simple
resolved
no more days, brunches, dinners, date nights wasted

There is a table with five chairs.
It’s always stood in the center of the room.

Connections made by meals,
A place where a wood maker envisioned happy gatherings and Sunday brunches.

So he carved 5 thoughtful chairs,
Each with a different occupant who sits in their own chair every time.
I bet the wood maker imagined orange juice being poured upon that table, and people tapping their fingernails against the side of their wooden seat.

His envisions came to life, for there was once a time where a mass of a family gathered there each night,
With a dog licking up scraps.

The tragedy is that his dream has died now.
The lit conversations have blown out,
Just like the candles that still remain set there each night in desperation to restore the old times with remembrance.

Don’t worry wood maker,
Your 5 chairs and table still indeed remain,
But only three remain occupied.
Your chairs didn’t do well enough for the others not to desire a new table.

maybe love isn’t passion
and flaming fires
and stolen glances

maybe it’s choosing you daily
and giving unlimited
chances

maybe it’s early brunches
and evening dog walks

rather than secret car meetings
and drunken late talks

maybe love is 9 mile hikes
when it starts to rain

and maybe it’s not messages
that cause everyone pain

maybe it’s me and you
maybe it’s you and me
maybe the love we have
is how it’s meant to be

maybe

Where do I even begin? How do I start this without leading myself on with feelings of sanguine but not also not ending it on the finality of a goodbye? These days I find both my head and heart in constant war about the logic of these questions I even have the audacity to ask when you’re probably never going to read or hear any of my words. So this is how it feels like to be a prisoner of wistful thinking. Huh.
I suppose I should just be as honest as I can? As honest as my heart could handle, as exact as my words can describe, as true as my mind could spare. Even though none of this feels conceivable in this version of reality-- the reality that I have to come to terms with.
Here it is:
I love you. I can feel what little confidence I have in my sanity slipping silently into the dawn as I try to process what I just wrote. Yes, I do love you.  As ridiculous as it may sound, I do love you--- at least in the way that I can, in the way that both time and fate permits me to. I love you  during sleepless 4 AM scribbles much like this when my head feels like a bomb going off every three minutes. I love you the second I open my eyes early in weekday mornings, I love you during rainy mornings, during good mornings, during late mornings, and even during bad mornings. And I probably will love you for all of the mornings of my life. I love you during midday chores, during lazy afternoons spent tracing I love you during the afternoon hours of long commutes when my feet feel like iron weight and my eyes are heavy with sleep and your smile is the only image my consciousness is able to perceive to jolt me back into a functioning state.And I am afraid, so afraid that regardless where the world will take me, continents away, in airplane rides, in bullet trains, in taxi cabs, in lonesome city buses, it will be there--this feeling, this false sense of comfort of you woven into my seat, etched into my heart, clouding my vision. I am so afraid because it feels like coming home, it’s an incomparable rush, a crippling kind of bliss that reduces me into a body longing for a pair of arms that have never even known my grasp and will never do.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm hoping that if I say it repeatedly,if I let each syllable just glide through my tongue,if I don't let the words linger on my lips, it will not hold enough value. Maybe it could just be letters on a piece of paper that looked good beside each other. Maybe it just sounded right,just felt poetic enough to spare me a fleeting warmth I was yearning for in between months of cold solace. Perhaps it might even equate to a mantra, as the words "I'll be okay,I'll be okay" had been etched in my mind long enough to convince me that indeed,in time, I will be okay. Only,these three words I wanted to whisper to you in the volatile silence only meant for two people whose souls have been tangled in time , my feeble heart requires them to work in the opposite way. Regardless whether I say it in a sea of people or in a  tete-a-tete  that feels like a cul-de-sac in my heart, the words need to bear no meaning---nothing that could be mistaken for tenderness,nothing that could make you see the vulnerability that consumes my soul every time I hear your name. Call it cowardice, call it insane, call it every name in the book---everything else will hurt less than the truth of what I feel. To love you is a privilege that is only intended for someone who has never known pain and cruelty the way I had,to love you is a sacred promise that only the purest of hearts will be able to keep, to love you is to be fluent in kindness and forgiveness---two things that the weariness in my bones had never known.

Loving you will not be easy, loving you is not all Sunday brunches, late night drives, cozy sleepovers, or quaint dog walking Saturdays in the park. Loving you is not all I-love-you's or You-are-the-greatest-thing-that-ever-happened-to-me. Loving you goes beyond the idealized version of you they have. I know this because I had known love in it's most fragile damaged state. I had known love the same way my human vessel has grown accustomed to gravity. And love,as I had memorized it is not always pretty, love does not come in easy to swallow bite-sized truths. In fact, love will often require the art of lying through gritted teeth for the sake of the person you love. Love does not come in conveniently packaged people who will meet all of the desires of your heart. Loving you will mean sick days for two, untangling darkness that has never made its way to the surface, breaking through barriers that are holding you down. Loving you will sometimes mean lonesome days that stretch out for months, it will often mean unwarranted judgement, missed calls, and bitter insecurities. Loving you will sometimes mean accepting the ugliest parts of humanity that reside within me.Loving you is a continuous arduous task, loving you is a not a promise to you alone but to everyone else that has loved you from the people who know what you look like in PJ's  to the people who constantly look at and cheer for you through rose-colored glasses. Loving you will start becoming a burden to some people after the spotlight fades and they look at you, seeing a human person instead of an idealized fictional man of their dreams. Loving you in the harsh light of reality might terrify them. See? To a certain extent,I do understand the complexity of loving a person like you, to a certain degree,I am already accustomed to it, deep down in my heart, loving you seems like the only thing in this word that is worth all the pain it might cost. I understand how hard it is to love, especially someone like you who deserves so much more than the world could spare for you, I understand that even though I could endure through the hardest parts, there is a certain kind of bliss someone soft and ethereal can only give you.
Know this,my sparrow, I have loved you even before I knew what love was, I had loved you through warm summers in my childhood home, I have loved you despite the oceans that the world never fails to put between us, I have weathered the storm of loving you despite of myself and who I am, I will love you even after I would have forgotten what love is and for these reasons, I will have to convince myself that I don't.  So please forgive me, forgive me for being damaged and only human,forgive me if I must say I don't and that I can't when I already do so much,when it's the closest thing to nirvana that I will ever be. I love you. I love you. I love you. One day, even just for a glitch in time,I might not mean it and my heart will know peace.

forever yours, winona

I remember the first time I met you.
It wasn’t actually too long ago,
Four hundred and ninety-two days.
It may seem like I’ve known you forever, but I haven’t,
It hasn’t even been a year and a half yet.

January, a year and five months ago, the last Friday of winter break.
I was early to our lunch meetup, you lived nearby
The bus had dark pink seats and green handles
You said you would meet me on the corner.
I didn’t even really know what you looked like
Brown hair? Um, semi-tall?
All I had to go off of was your instagram.
You walked up outside,
Black tank top, a ponytail, looking at your phone
Thank god, let’s get out of here.
I don’t remember the first hello, but I remember meeting your parents.
A little awkward, your dad was on the treadmill, your mom doing yoga,
But they were both nice, they’d both been to my hometown.
Well,
Not my home anymore.
You lived on the eighteenth floor,
I found it weird that it said 18th “storey”
Adjust, adjust, adjust.
Get used to it,
This is where you live now.

Then, I remember
Next thing I know,
We’re on the third floor, at the benches.
I’m laughing, and shoving you a bit.
I’d only known you for five days then,
But it was something special, unexpected.
You were something special.
I’d never guessed this would happen
When you first emailed me, I was just confused.
I didn’t know what I would get out of moving here,
Jumping into something unknown,
Taking a risk,
It turns out,
I may not love the city
I may not love the school
But the people-
Oh, god,
The people.
I would give almost anything to move back home
Anything
Except-
The people.

I wanted so badly to go home,
This was too new, too hard,
I just wanted it to be over.
It didn’t even feel real,
It felt like some hazy dream that I could forget about in the morning
I mean,
For god’s sake, I found a ***** in my pasta at lunch
Students here were taking five, six advanced classes
So many people here looked unfamiliar, black hair, olive skin
I felt like a fish out of water,
Gasping for breath-
How could I get back in my fish bowl?

What kind of place was this?

I wanted to go home, to my reasonable sized house,
To the prospect of driver’s ed,
To skiing and the cold air,
To lunches spent laughing with my friends,
To my family,
To my pets,
To my home.

If we left though,
I think I might lose more than I thought
There was you-
Literal sunshine in human form,
Something like a goldendoodle
Just about the only thing making me think I could do this.
You were always there to lean on, supportive and kind, so very bright.
You made me laugh when I wasn’t even sure I could smile.

So I stayed.
And I cried.
A lot.
The first week
The second week
Three months in
Four months in
Four months and two weeks
The day before the AP exams.
But I stayed.
And it was worth it.

Was it, though?
Was it worth it?

A year and five months later,
Four hundred and ninety-two days,
I’m sitting in my room,
Laptop in front of me
Watercolors to my right
My cat somewhere in my parents’ room
My brother downstairs
We’ve been in quarantine for 48 days now
I’m an introvert, but this isolation is starting to wear on even me.

Was it worth it?

There’s you-
There from the start, before I even knew it.
There’s another girl, I met her at the start of all of this, but we weren’t close until later
She has two sisters and two small dogs, and understands what it feels like to not be able to breathe sometimes
So
There’s her.
Two more-
Both art students,
Different grades, from different continents, different personalities.
I met them both through art though.
One in Indonesia,
Where I met one of the funniest people, dry humor, full of jokes, not named Jessica
Swedish, always there for me to spill my secrets to, trustworthy to the end.
The other I met in class,
A die hard harry potter fan, a little crazy, but similar to me, there to commiserate with, to feed my caffeine addiction, to make me feel less alone.

I have these people now, I have a house, I have you.

But, is it a home?

My walls are still semi-bare
I still wanted to go home for Christmas
The end of quarantine is so close I might scream
School is going to be online for the rest of the year
I’m buried in assignments,
Trying to float, but I’m sinking under all the paper.
At my oldest brother’s job, multiple people got sick
I haven’t left the house in two weeks.

Is it a home?

I have a video of my parents dancing to the stereo
One friend visited me in august, genuinely excited to see me and my new country
We plan trips for the future
I’m looking for a job here
I’ve started to look at colleges
I can’t wait to see the friends I’ve made here after quarantine, to give you a hug

Is it a home?

We had virtual prom on a Saturday night
Makeup done, hair curled, dressed to the nines
Scribble.io instead of dancing
Thank you for that, by the way-
I almost didn’t come, but I’m glad you convinced me.
We FaceTime almost every day now,
Before and after our history exam too
You ordered me Starbucks afterwards as a thank-you for helping
The coffee might have been iced, but it still warmed my heart.

Is it
a home?

I want to leave- but do I?
I miss them
My friends and family at home.
I worry for them,
I can’t do anything to help them.
I see my mom ache,
I see my friends struggle.
I wish every day that I could be back under the sky there,
Blanketed in gray, comforting in its familiarity,
Where it rains every season, and snow caps the mountains,
Where it’s cold out, but always warm inside,
Friends and family and warmth and memory-
But there’s no You.

Would it be any better there instead of here?

I would only be missing different people.
Something inside of me might break again if we moved
More adjusting, more crying, more frustration
Is it better here?
The sun always shines and it’s never cold
You and I have a standing tradition of brunch every saturday we can manage
I’ve had my cat for a month now, and she’s barely older than a kitten, still playful
I’ve traveled from here more than I ever have before, Australia, Bali, more to come

I don’t know what to do
Am I supposed to stay here?
And keep missing the people I left behind?
Or do I go, and just miss people all over again

Tell me what to do,
You understand what it’s like, you’ve gone through this before.
What should I do?
Do I let go of my home? Embrace the now?
Place it safely away in a picture frame on my wall,
Put it inside a box on the shelf,
Slip the necklace from around my neck, hang it on its stand.

Or should I face backwards?
Beg my parents to move back,
Back to security, to the known, to the ease of a long-standing routine,
My friends will welcome me back
I’ll be glad to see my grandmother again
I won’t ever have to deal with this humidity again.

So tell me,
You probably know me best of anyone here,
You know what I like, you know who I am
What am I supposed to do?
Please, tell me what to do.

Is there a third option?
Is there a way, any possible way
That I can have both?

I can spend my years here,
My Summers there,
Where the sun is bright, but mild
I will get to see the seals and the beaches,
I will see my friends again
I won’t have to hold onto pieces of them,
The bits I receive in text messages and pictures and phone calls
I can split my world, have the two halves, but interwoven.
I’ll still get to have what I get here
You
I’d get to keep you,
Our brunches, our FaceTimes, every little thing in between

The warmth.

It’s the best of both worlds,
A dream come true.
I can do that,

I’ll keep the warmth,
I’ll stick with you.

the mothers that come in
seem to have a fire missing
somewhere behind their eyes
their laughs are always piercing
their smiles, rotten
their hatred festers and boils below their skin
hatred for their jobs or their husbands
or their screaming kids
hatred for their brunches and cocktail hours
or their *** life
hatred for their absent fathers or mothers or both
hatred for their marriage
for their husbands that got to have both dreams
hatred for their bodies and minds ruined in carrying children
hatred that they were never told that they had a choice
that there were different paths to happiness
hatred for the box that they were shoved into with a smile on their withering faces

when i take their order at the counter
i see it all
i see this and more

and it frightens me deeply

I have my doubts though one way is  to cross through
Morgoth or Moloch or maelstrom of the daggers that
dare not do to you as I must
State of being as an American... graduations, convivials,
brunches and Sunday football gatherers...

Vitriol and dusts.. cruelty extremists.. in the Good Book I trust...
fire the moonshine runners, kick the tires,
burn the gloved fists, sapphires and rust

I am not fed by the chimes of spurious
daunting jabs and dares
We can not quiz valiance, doors to utopian
realms and passages to take us there

Nemesis so cloaked and free as dramas betwixt
were the destitute rally of failed strife stories now
They have begun being nixed for the better ones
That's you and me  
volley of drab defensive rushes
forwarded and returned
peeling by the time  
deliverance was the postage affixed

Always lost in hubris the darkest of hours
Oh God...Horus, oh Tiamat await within the spiritual spirits

Frolic a coy loss, avail and fail, win and loss,  free hits
Such as you and I, surely...
Pleasing to the laws that raced to sever flesh and verify ascensions
For as psychosomatic brevity scolded all were watched and mocked The decisions continue to contrasts to depths I(we) flew and swayed into the eves and dawns that greens of immersed magics founded of cadence  

Now shadows replace valor quickens the sights acknowledged
Words of attack too dense the ghosts slide into grasp of human touch
Making excited the lows and walking
the commodity of joy back home
I have swapped the cinders and children so futile and desperate yet history repeats surround now forces of the darkness as stronger wiser beings of the light have found it was to hurt me, they've found fealty in never turning the revenants  to madrigal wisps summoned by ceremonies of taciturn death
Tell me, tell us what you never did fragile young soul...
So nice to quell smooth novice frozen garb stitched of merry deniers
Unhook the golden copper wax coddled wires
Now use the knowledge of all creation brandish the satisfactions and follow the inhibitions into the new future
The ones that shadows had replaced time afore now merely we stand awaiting as servants to a cause at your door

Now I have the time
For those Sunday brunches
The walk in the park,
Laughing with you at
Kids' pranks.
Yes,I have all the time in
This world!
Where........are you ?