you have bewitched me

This morning I woke up as if winter was starting its plan without me. The snow drips to water outside, even now, as it will be in the mid-60s here tomorrow. But that sound didn’t wake me, nor the ice crashing to the grass from the apartment building roof. I just woke up under a cloudy cloth sky and felt like the wheels of the seasons are turning at full motor and I haven’t yet set out to join it. I decided the best way to greet 7am would be with a run and drove to the track at Kent to avoid any falls on the asphalt. Waiting in my car at the stop sign at 43 and Main I saw this fat black squirrel waiting at the sidewalk. He was eating a gigantic nut, bigger than his head, but his hands were working so quickly to spin it around for his teeth to nibble. And then, the oddest thing happened. Just as I came to a complete stop and the cross-traffic light turned green, he stood up, gripped the nut with his teeth, and then crossed the walk to the other side where people were filing into church. I love it when things like that happen.

I spent the weekend in DC with my family. It was quite a pleasurable time, despite the unseasonable chill in the air. On Wednesday, Nin and I went to the Smithsonian and then to Bethesda for some lunch. Thursday before dinner, we follow a lovely little tradition of going to Georgetown in the morning. My Dad enjoys walking around when all of the shops are closed, looking at the impossibly expensive townhouses, and then treating us to some soup at Le Madeleine. Nothing like a little French Provincial auberge to kick off a great American holiday. Friday we went to the Eastern Market, which was closed, but spent an enthralling thirty minutes trying to fish my aunt’s key’s from under her seat. She just bought one of those fancy new luxury cars where you don’t have to use a key to start the car, but the key has to be IN the car. Anyway she dropped the keys down into the seat a few days earlier and just didn’t mind leaving her car unlocked (since she could start it when she got in). But at the urging of a few of us who thought leaving the car unlocked at the Eastern Market was a bad idea, she decided to let us get them out. My mother is great at these little tasks. She revels in them, in fact, little projects. Anyway it was one of the highlights of the day. The second was getting to go to the great used bookstore. My Dad bought me the first illustrated American edition of Pride and Prejudice, which I think was fate in finding, since we had plans to see the film later that day (and we did and it was so romantic and wonderful. I had the most ridiculous looking smile on my face the whole time). On our way out of the district, my Dad, Nin and I kept taunting my mom, trying to get her to jump out of the car when we stopped at a light and get us a few hotdogs. She almost did it, but the thought of having to run a few blocks to catch up to the car while juggling three hotdogs proved to be the sensation that beat out hunger.

In reflection before writing, I wanted to try to remember all of the quintessential details of the trip, especially because it was honestly one of the best trips there in years. But because Thanksgiving is an American holiday, and I would be remiss not to include the thing that is keeping me mindful of that, I will write one last memory. Saturday, the TV perked alive with news of Black Friday sales and other such merriment. And to demonstrate how fit we are as a country of mass consumers, they played reel after the same reel of the opening of Wal-Mart on Friday morning and this woman being stampeded by the crowd. Brian said, “Look, you know what you’re getting into when you line-up, if you’re not ready, stay home”, which I thought was putting it fairly lightly. However I agree. When the doors click open and the little light shines down on those half-off plasma TVs, you better light your fires. It is sort of our version of the Running of the Bulls, except Americans are dressed far less sexy and the only sharp thing coming at you are the boney elbows of anorexic soccer moms trying to grab the latest PS2 game “Prostitute Shoot-Out.” Anyway, if you’re wondering about the woman being stampeded, she was okay. While the feet were pounding her to the floor, her red wig popped off, and rather than try to get up for help or claw away from the rush, she inched and inched and inched forward on that dirty floor, grabbed that red wig, and put it right back on her head. Now for all of my non-American friends out there...this is what we call American Sass or (ASs), and it is the thing that I am most thankful for each and every year.

thank you, jesus

the great manna of heaven has once again pierced the clouds of the heavens and spilled forth over Streetsboro. coming. soon. flea market. thank you jesus. thank you.

After Reading Your Latest Book, I Dream of You

—for K.K

You are behind a bar, slicing Haas avocados. Devotee
of extractions and skins and savorings. I learn your poems
before the act of a distant morning promises classroom,
where you will arrive milliseconds before your hair.
I wrinkle into your work, ponder the possible meanings
of oolong, which you guild often into tressles on page,
you mason, you crossbeam of poem. There is lyric
in your eyes, the half set lashes tell it, so I cannot speak
to you, ever. You open a Polish wine and invent up a kind
of lust in pouring, or lust, perhaps is what I have yearned
true, though you never seem to mind it. We are valleys,
practiced in collecting each other’s gazes, bar to stool.
I am sure that I am in love with you, though I am young
and easily influenced by your precision. You do not drink
or eat, nor do I. The timelessness of this moment is born
of preparations, which begin each night I call for you,
and do not spoil in morning as I stir you into my tea
and imagine you all day, tasting oolong, oolong, oolong.