islands

when we arrived on the island and climbed off the small speed boat, the heat and oppressive humidity told me we were in the tropics. leon held my arm for me as i tottered uneasily onto the rocks of the beach. the five people we were with were more sure-footed, having lived there for some months prior to our arrival. the two girls were clad only in bikini tops and short shorts; the young men in longer shorts and tank tops with thick cords of hemp and beads around their tanned necks. everyone was so young and beautiful and ready for adventure. i knew i was out of place.

it was a short hike to the main buildings, though a thick stand of jungle trees and vines, and wet rocks covered in a lush moss i'd never seen before. we set about the business of having fun immediately. we had brought no bags, no supplies. everything was to be provided by the "resort". reggae music filled the common room, almost as completely as the ganja smoke and beer vapour. leon and i relaxed together on a pile of huge colourful pillows, made out, and felt at peace. it was a wonderful beginning. the building we were in was completely round, windows on all sides, and out the left side we could see the moon rise, full and glorious. we had huge fun hiking and swimming plans for the next day and we started to nod off slightly in one another's arms.

suddenly the two girls sprang into action in front of us. they grabbed leon by the hands and pulled him into a standing position. "we heard you know how to make absinthe!" they cried. "come on! show us!" he was tugged into the kitchen. i remained on the pillows, feeling stoned and sluggish. the boys were laughing amongst themselves and one of them came over to where i lay, nearly comatose. "hey, lynn," he whispered, "we are going to go down to the beach for a little moonlight swim. you wanna come?" i nodded and allowed them to pull me up to a standing position. "the hike there is kinda long and there's a chasm we have to cross, but there's a bridge. look alive!" he smiled. i shook my head and allowed them to lead me out of the building.

the night was close and damp and hot feeling. they led me along a very thin, clausterphobic path that was nearly overrun with vines and thick with old mossy trees. they had brought no light with them so it was like being nearly blind. i kept looking up at the sky to keep track of where the moon was. she blinked in an out of sight behind the tree line, beckoning me. the boys ahead of me kept calling back, and one trudged back through the dark and appeared in front of me like a magician's trick, and took my hand. "it's okay, it's not much farther," he said, gently. his hand was damp and warm. he led me on through the trees, until finally we reached the chasm they had spoken about. it was narrow, maybe only five or six feet across, but deep. so deep and dark it was impossible to see to the bottom. vines and moss trickled down it's jagged edges and vanished into blackness. i tried to not think about what lurked beneath what the pale moonlight revealed within it's crevice.

"here's the bridge," the boy said. "you go first. i'll stay behind you."

i looked at "the bridge", which was little more than two grey and fraying ropes as hand-holds, and some thin, rotten-looking planks of wood stretched across two other, lower, more frayed-looking ropes. "i don't like rope bridges," i muttered. "it's okay," he assured me, "it's completely safe." i took a deep breath and took a step out onto it, gripping the hand-ropes with hands so shakey and sweaty i was sure i'd lose my grip and be swallowed up by the dark maw of the chasm. the bridge swayed and undulated under me in a nauseating fashion. the boy behind me was saying soothing things, seeing that my fear of falling was overwhelming me, but it didn't matter. my heart was pounding and it felt like the night was closing in on me. i fell to my knees and the bridge swayed and rocked and i let my hands fall to the boards on the floor and started crawling, very slowly, across. the boys on the other side were laughing at me, but i didn't care. all i cared about was getting to the other side alive.

finally i scrambled onto the other side of the chasm, tiny rocks and clumps of moss uprooting themselves from under my feet and tumbling down into the abyss. the other boy deftly crossed the bridge, light, like an elf, and helped me to a standing position. "it's just beyond this ridge," he said, smiling kindly. "come on!"

we climbed up and over a rocky outcropping and suddenly the rainforest gave way to the most stunning view of the ocean. the moon glowed like a hard, white opal and cast one rich beam of rippled light over the waves. i could see across the water to the other shore, where lights from tiny houses glittered and headlights from passing cars streaked across the hillside.

the boys whooped in delight, and immediately ran down the rocky shore and plunged themselves into the water, hollaring and splashing each other. i felt tentative and strange and uncomfortable, and took tender steps down the stoney slope towards the water. i wasn't wearing a suit, and in fact had only the clothes on my back to wear the entire trip, and i wasn't sure about the water. it looked inviting but the waves were bigger than i expected and my mind sent out warnings, irving-style, about the "under toad". i slipped my sandals off and dipped my toes in the salt water. it was warm and felt as though it was kissing me. the boys called out to me, "lynn! come in! it's amazing!" i took a deep breath, stripped down to my underwear, and slid into the water. the waves forced me towards the shore, but they were warm and soothing. i took a few strokes out towards the young men who were busy dunking one another and sputtering and playing like children. i lay on my back, looked up at the whirling heavens, and for the first time, wondered how i'd gotten there. the moon shimmered above me and i felt as though my mother was watching over me, protecting me. i think i slept a little, as i drifted.

a cracking sound, a flash of brilliant light, and a shooting pain from my head shocked me from my reverie. i opened my eyes, bewildered to discover that dawn had crept upon us. the sky was light blue and pink and cool. i sputtered into a treading water position and touched my head at the place where i felt the pain. blood was trickling down my forehead. i had been thrust against a jagged rock on the shoreline and my scalp had split open. i looked around, panicking, for the boys that had brought me there, and they were up on the shore, dozing against one another in a huge, tanned and muscular heap. my head throbbed as i climbed out of the water. blood obscured my vision. "help," i said, weakly. "i hit my head."

one of them woke up and said, "oh shit,". he took off his shirt and gave it to me to press against my wound. "guys," he said, loudly, nudging the two others with is foot, "guys, wake up. lynn is hurt. we gotta go back."

they murmmered and woke up, rubbing their bleary eyes and looking at me as though i had pissed in the punchbowl at their party. "i'm sorry," i said. "i fell asleep floating out there. the waves. a rock."

"yeah, it's okay," the boy who had given me his shirt said, "it looks worse than it is, i'm sure. we have a first aid kit back at home."

the jungle was cool and wet with dew as we pushed our way back through the overgrown path and over the rocky ridge. i crawled across the rope bridge on my hands and knees again, but no one laughed at me this time. as we approached the roundhouse, we could see that it was dim and quiet within. my heart filled with dread. the shirt i had been holding to my head wound was already soaked in blood, useless and gory. i began to feel lightheaded and unsure of my steps. i didn't want to go in the building, but the boys beckoned me in hushed tones. i had no choice.

they led me into the roundhouse where it was quiet and dim. the morning light barely penetrated the trees that surrounded the building. it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness within. the air smelled of old smoke and liquor and i could hear the muted sounds of snoring and deep sleep breathing. one of the boys disappeared into the kitchen area to look for the first aid kit. i looked around the room for leon, and found him. asleep on the huge colourful pillows, like an infant, naked, and twined around the two beautiful naked young woman. none of them stirred. we had been quiet enough in our entrance that we didn't disturb them.

my stomach rose up into my throat. blood dripped down from my cut and left hot streaks on my cheeks that i mistook for tears. i swallowed hard and twisted the blood-soaked shirt in my hands, wringing it, until big fat drops of the red liquid squirted out onto the wooden floor. one of the boys saw my distress and said, "lynn. it's okay. this is a different world. this doesn't mean anything. you are both here to have fun."

i glared at him through a veil of red. the sound of his voice woke leon and the girls. leon sat up and rubbed his eyes. he saw me standing a few feet away, covered in blood. "oh shit," he said, leaping to his feet, and looking guiltily at the naked women still lying on the pillows. "oh shit, lynn. oh shit. your head. and i...uh..."

he turned and looked around the room for his pants, found them, and scrambled to get them on. "are you okay, honey?" he asked me, approaching me slowly. "what happened? where were you all night? i...i drank too much..."

"fuck you," i said, rage seeping into my voice.

"i know," he said, "i know. i just..." he walked slowly towards me, his hand outstretched, but i backed away, baring my teeth at him. "please," he said. "please don't..."

the one boy came out of the kitchen with the first aid kit, appraised the situation, and said, "lynn. don't be angry. there are different rules here than what you are used to. it's okay. it could have easily been you..."

"fuck off!" i shouted, whipping my head around at him. "there are no rules but the rules that leon and i agreed to in the beginning!"

"lynn," leon said, getting nearer. i took the opportunity to whip the sopping blood-soaked t-shirt at him. he dodged and it slapped wetly against the wooden floor, leaving a spattery trail of red drops in it's wake. "please," he said, sadly, "please listen..."

he got close enough to touch. i grabbed a hunk of his hair and yanked. i swear i could smell the odious funk of the other women on him. he yelped in pain and his eyes filled with anger. "fuck you, lynn!" he shouted at me, "we need to talk! you can't hurt me like that!"

i pulled harder and used my free hand to slap his face. "no, fuck YOU, leon," i spat, "you're a useless piece of shit. you've ruined my life." i gave his hair one last hard tug, spun on my heel, and walked out of the building.

at first i didn't know which way to go. i decided to head back to the beach we'd come from. the ocean would know what i should do.

the walk through the jungle seemed less scary than when i had been travelling with the others. the bridge didn't sway, the chasm, in the daylight, was only a few feet deep, and a small, singing stream gurgled in a friendly way beneath my feet as i crossed. the ridge wasn't as rocky as i climbed higher and higher. when i reached the top, however, i was stunned at how different the sea appeared to me from the night before.

it was grey and violent, swirling and foaming and crashing against the shore. it looked more like the ocean of the pacific northwest than the warm tropical salt bath it should have been. i approached the edge of the shore and put a toe in, and recoiled. it was cold. the waves slapped against the rocks and tried to suck me in. i began to slowly walk out into them. they overtook me. i was sucked under. everything became grey and black.

when i woke up, i was lying on a different beach. my head ached. my body shivered. my heart had fallen in on itself. i lay for a moment looking up at the grey sky, feeling miserable. i was far away from the tropical paradise i had thought i would find joy in. i wiped leon from my mind, sat up, and decided to climb up the steep craggy wall of rock that was at my back. i could see the island i had come from in the distance. there was no one on that shore, looking for me, calling to me. it was desolate and foreign.

the climb up was difficult. shards of black slate rock slipped from under my bleeding fingers and scrambling feet. my head wound began to bleed again, obscuring my vision. i felt as though i had been climbing for hours. finally i reached the top. a quick scramble through a shrubby and scratchy screen of trees, and i was on a paved road. i began walking along it. no cars passed. birds circled overhead; black birds, crying at me, perching in the spindly trees, watching my progress. finally i came to what was the edge of a small town. i knew where i was going though i'd never been there before. i climbed through hilly suburban streets until i reached a small white house with many windows and a tidy front porch covered in a brilliantly coloured potted flowers and plants. i knew the house was empty, and would be until summer came again. i tried the door, and it opened easily beneath my hand.

the inside of the house was simple and decorated plainly in whites and blues. a single bed was tucked into a corner. a t.v. sat mute opposite it. it was immaculate inside, and i felt hideous and filthy and out of place. i found the tiny bathroom and stepped into the shower. i washed the grime and salt water and blood off of my body. the silence of the tiny house was overwhelming. i began to talk to myself. i began to clean each inch of the home, even though it was already spotless. i carried around a small spray bottle of window cleaner. i wiped each inch of glass with a soft, clean cloth. i wiped down the mirror. i scrubbed at every inch of table top and counter. i talked to myself the whole time. "this spot is already clean." but you must clean it again, i replied. "you just cleaned this mirror an hour ago." the dust is collecting as we speak, i responded. my voice sounded robotic. unnatural.

i spent months in the house. wiping. spraying. looking at my headwound in my reflections. i never slept. the bed remained untouched and made perfectly, the blankets pulled taut. i had visions of the young woman that lived there in the summer months. her name was annika. she would never know i was there; i would leave before she returned. her place would be shining and white. the flowers forever blooming. i cleaned and cleaned. i lifted bric-a-brac and wiped non-existant dust away. i never thought once about the island, my adulterous husband, or the beautiful young men and women there; not once. i was insane. i was my only companion. my skin became worn out and smooth from the constant use of glass cleaner and soft cloths. when i looked in the mirror, i saw a shining alabaster statue looking back. my hair grow long. i cleaned and watched myself. the front windows of the house had a perfect view across the channel, the island i had come from hulking there in the distance. it never called me back. i never felt heartache.

i waited out the winter. i shone like the house shone. i was alone, healed, and perfect.

there came a day when an old friend knocked on the door. a day just before spring arrived. he knocked on the door and the sound was so foreign to me i almost didn't recognize it. when i finally realized what was happening, i opened the door and there he stood, looking sad and somehow not surprised by my gleaming appearance.

"you need to come back now," he said.

i nodded.

i put away the spray bottle and the glass cleaner, under the bathroom sink, exactly where i'd found them. annika would never know i had lived there. i never slept on her bed once. i only polished her glass. i only looked through her mirrors. i never touched her television.

my friend led me back down the craggy cliffside to the beach where i had washed up. "we can swim this now, safely," he said. but i knew there was still under tow. i heisitated. "the channel is clear. you need to go back and talk to leon now," he insisted, pulling at my hand, urging me forward. i followed him into the water, and we swam. we swam hard against the current. the undertow yanked at me, tried to suck me under. i felt the overwhelming desire to give in, but my friend kept calling to me. he was a few strokes ahead of me but he paused and tread water, waiting for me to catch up. finally we made it to the other side. the rock where i had bashed my head was clean and showed no trace of my blood. we shimmied up the ridge, trudged through the jungle, and crossed the rope bridge, which had been repaired by someone over the months i was absent.

the roundhouse stood among the trees, illuminated from within by the light of a million candles. music and smoke drifted out. the laughter inside was deafening. everything seemed too loud, too dirty. my friend led me within. my eyes scoured the young tan faces of the inhabitants for leon, and i found him, sitting at a long, low wooden table, drinking from a large mug, alone.

his eyes found mine. he stood up suddenly, and the table kicked forward, and the mug fell and spilled it's contents all over the floor. "lynn," he said, not noticing the overturned table and mess he'd created. i clenched inside.

"lynn," he said, "you came back."

"i'm not the same," i said to him, blandly.

he blinked at me. he saw my polished white skin. he saw my gleaming glassy eyes. he saw how my fingerprints had been rubbed away by cleaning fluids. he saw how empty my brain had become, scrubbed clear of everything in the winter months of living in annika's house. his eyes filled with water.

"no," he said. "you're right. nothing is the same."

he walked away from me, then, back to where he had been sitting, righted the table, and wiped up the mess of beer he'd created. i looked out the window at the jungle trees. their vines reached out to the little roundhouse and wrapped us up into green darkness, like tentacles, blocking the light from the sun.

nobody noticed but me.

Queen Wendy

When she told me she had red sheets, I mistook her glassy pointed
Gaze as something aimed beyond me; “And furthermore,” she said, “I’ve never
Gone in for fat girls before.”
Also she gripped wee Allison with hands and long fingers so thin and ever-
Reaching that it seemed to me they’d never leave the dance floor while
Tom Waits was being played.
When she told me that the hole in my Guess Jeans t-shirt allowed her eyes
Easy access to my assets I was pretty sure she was being mean, in a superior
Kind of way.
The afternoon I arrived there with waftings of roasted bean scents pushing themselves
Through my nostrils, she was sitting there alone at a table for the
First time ever.
Her foot knocked a wrought iron chair away from the table’s edge in a truncated
Message of offering me her company while making sure I understood that
It was all a big favor.
I placed myself in the seat beside her and somehow she managed to scrutinize me
Without once ever casting her gaze on me, and furthermore she offered to
Buy me a lager.
When the beer came she laid her fingers to the side of the glass and pushed the beads
Of condensation to the table; and there on the plastic table cloth she drew lines and
Swirls as I watched.
I didn’t know what to say to her except that perhaps she was the most beautiful
Creature I’d ever laid my eyes upon and that her mouth had been on my breasts
Countless times, sleeping.
So I measured myself against my past lovers but there was no way for me to compare
Their useless proddings and pokings and scratching faces against my tender white flesh
To her gentle breath.
As I imagined this she took the lager in her hands and in a moment that shocked me
She swallowed it all, a great huge sour glass of lager, and it ran out of her mouth in thin lines
Because she didn’t like beer.
“That was for you, and you didn’t take it,” she said when the glass touched down,
“I can’t waste what I give, and I can’t waste the time, to beg you to drink it;
That is a metaphor.”
Well, I pushed my hand through my hair and wondered stupidly how the café had
Emptied itself when by all rights it was just like any other day here, with the rain
Smattering outside.
And I wished sadly I had drank the lager she had ordered before her urgent need
To waste not want not had forced her to drink something she regarded poisonous
And possibly fatal.
I watched as her face went white and tinged green around her lips and under her eyes
She was regarding me with the same urgency she had downed the amber liquid, and said,
“Get out of here.”
I stood immediately as I knew the audience with the Café’s queen had come to an end
And I’d arrived a slack-jawed impertinent with the brains of a cow-monkey and
Intuiting nothing.
Leaving empty-handed while she sat there in the corner with her heart so obviously breaking
She was tired of making the move and her thrones, all of them around her, empty
Her t-shirt clung.
When I swung outside with the cold metal of the door handle imprinting my palm with
Waffle marks I heard the iron legs of her chair squeak against the floor and her steps
Were heavy and quick.
She pushed me out the door and the street was dark and drizzly and her hand pressed
Into my hand and she guided me roughly past the front window of the café and pushed me
Hard around the corner.
“Have the lager or don’t have the lager,” she grunted into my upturned face; her height
Was what made her regal; the fragility of her slender body beneath her inappropriate clothes
Made me weak.
“But don’t prance here, not here,” she shook, her long hands pinning my arms against brick.
“You are playing here in a place that isn’t about frivolity and I resent you using me like this.”
Her chapped lips burned.
Again I could hear “Heart Attack and Vine” cue up inside the café and my back cried out against
The friction of the wall and guilt filled me so sour and intense that I looked at her, misty,
And shed tears.
My head cracked against the brick as her face met mine in an embrace so explosive the rain
Was deflected, momentarily; I felt my lips split open, between her teeth and my teeth, silky
Sandwich filling.
Her breath reeked of the beer she had consumed and I knew I smelled of cigarette smoke but
Still we kissed and the aura of heat that shimmered off our bodies in the smoky black air filled the alley
Like $8 perfume.
She grasped my breast and I could not find the strength in me to lift my hands and reciprocate
And besides this was my first real girl kiss and the lips I’d felt at first as pain became something
Achingly beautiful.
“I’m Wendy,” she said into my mouth, “I’m Wendy. I’m Wendy. I’m Wendy.” And kissing and
Kissing and rain bouncing crystal against the pale skin of her nose and cheeks, refracting her lashes
“I have red sheets.”

bad day

i decided to go ahead of misha and the kids to our hotel to change, or something. as i rounded the corner, i saw a huge, red, double-decker bus coming up the street i was turning onto. there was a fellow sticking half his body out of a top hatch, pointing at a banner strung across the street and yelling at the bus driver to slow down and back up so he could read it properly. the bus driver, with a grin on his face, slammed the bus into reverse and hit the gas pedal as hard as he could. he lost control and the bus started wobbling. to my surprise, rather than easing off the gas, he seemed to floor it, and right in front of my eyes, the entire vehicle tipped onto it's side and began skidding down the street. people were screaming from inside, and i started screaming too, watching this unfold. the bus was going so fast it flipped again, onto it's roof, and finally came to rest like that just outside a gas station. the people inside were shrieking in horror and pain. i saw the guy that had been leaning out the top hatch get crushed. other people were being squeezed by thousands of pounds of bus, too. a large, dark, shiny pool of blood was forming under the overturned bus. i screamed and screamed and covered my eyes and ran into my hotel room. i felt guilty, thinking that i should have gone over to try to help; but i couldn't bring myself to face the gruesome reality of it all. i almost thought to phone 911, but then figured 911 had probably already been called by a dozen people. i sat on the bed in the hotel room and rocked myself slowly back and forth with my hands wrapped around my head. i just wanted leon and the kids with me.

i could hear them coming, and i flung open the door to our room. julian tried to toddle off to see what all the commotion was down the block and i screamed at misha to not let him go look, that it was a terrible accident. misha scooped him up and we all went into the hotel room. some friends came by and we talked about it and i learned that the paramedics and ambulances and fire squads had all shown up and rescued a good portion of the people, though everyone was injured. it occurred to me to ask what it was that was written on the banner strung across the street, that the in the top of the bus had insisted the driver pull back for him to read. an ex-boyfriend who was in the room with us told me, "i didn't get to read it all. i think it was by a famous poet - enid, maybe? it read a bit like victorian nonsense. what bawling and tearing of hair out! pigs and babies! butterflies and candy! all rolling around in the filthy streets together! there was more. that's all i remember. it was gruesome. all of it."

i shut my eyes and waited.

soon i found myself at a wedding reception. the children were dancing, i was dressed up and beautiful, and my husband was all over me. he kept hiking up my skirt, and rubbing against my legs. i kept fending him off but his relentless desire made me feel lustful, too. so we wandered off to find a private place and ended up slipping into a janitor's closet. he pushed me down onto the ground and forced my legs apart. he tried to rip my stockings off but i begged him not to as there was still a party to attend afterwards. he complied and pulled them off gently. as he took himself out of his pants i was ready, completely, to make crazy passionate love. imagine my horror when, blank-faced and determined, he began to piss all over me. great, copious, hot yellow gushes of urine, all over me. when i started to protest, he aimed it at my face and i got mouthfuls of it. i started to vomit and cry and could feel my dress become soaked through. i kept puking up the wine and as soon as my mouth emptied of it's acrid taste, it would fill again with his urine. it was horrid. i was horrified. i started to scream, and that's when he found himself emptied. i started to yell at him. i got up and beat on him. he remained blank-faced and uneffected. i told him to fuck off and die. i was rinsing my face in the big steel grey sink in the closet and sobbing. he didn't say anything at all, just did up his pants and watched me, like i was his irrational haggard screaming chattel. he wasn't amused. he was slightly pissed that i did not conform to his fantasy being fulfilled. but mostly he seemed disaffected with my fury. i hated him with a rage so intense that gall kept rising in my throat. i had to go back out to the wedding reception in a soaked, stinking and stained dress, my whole body rank with the smell of his piss. i had no other clothes to wear.

temporary tattoos

we were talking 'bout porn, and i said i wanted to see and experience some that wasn't all about dehumanizing women, and that had women it in that sort remotely resembled me. too tall an order, i thought.

you vanished for a few hours while i hung out in the cafe with two unbelievably gorgeous men, sharing veggie wontons dipped in an incredibly sour red sauce and drinking thick, sweet coffee. then robyn popped in to say hi, and invited us all out to a mountain lake with her and her man, so we piled in her beat-up old car, and drove, smoking reefer on the way, the music loud. after hiking through the misty woods for a while, we came upon the hugest, clearest lake i have ever had the good fortune to see. robyn told us it had been gouged out of the ground a mere 2000 years ago by a huge glacier. the sides of the lake offered no shore, just a sheer, muddy drop-off into a deep pool. i could look down into the water and see the roots of the trees that resided next to the reflecting water, just under the surface. it was a cool, rainy day, but one of the men was so overtaken with the beauty he saw there he stripped down completely and took a run at the water, his bare feet digging into the dark, damp soil, flinging it up behind him, spattering mud onto his back and flexing buttocks. he leapt, arms and legs splayed, into the water and splashed down, hooting at the shock of cold, while we all stood on the shore, laughing and smoking.

the experience drained from us all, we made our way back to the car, robyn saying she had to get back to work, and me, curious to know where you had gone, wanting to be there when you returned.

i was dropped off at home, and my phone rang incessantly as i tried to fix myself some tea and biscuits. a woman was talking to me, telling me how much she needed help, she was standing outside the cafe, in pain, so much pain, and i told her i'd take a message, and give it to robyn when i saw her. the urgency in her voice left me unmoved, however.

and then you came home.

you skin was tan. you hair, bleached at the tips. you wore a roughly woven dark green vest with no shirt beneath it, and at your throat rested a thickly embroidered hemp-and-bead necklace. your body was scented, deeply scented, like spice and chocolate, and the women at the shop you told me you had been to, in search of the porn i desired, had written love notes to me all over every inch of the skin you had left exposed that day. you were smiling, and warm, and all of the words on your body spoke to me, singing my praises, singing about the love you carry around in yourself, for me. and when you took me in your arms, and tried to to talk about what you had seen at the sexy little store you'd been to, about how you'd professed your undying devotion and deep desire to bring me to the peak of ecstasy to the women there, they'd fawned over you, and tried to make sure that the next time we met, you'd be properly armed with everything required for my very important seduction.

you hadn't purchased porn, or even a toy, to stimulate me with. you'd only talked about me, with other people who might have understood, and they'd decorated you and layered you with fragrance, and as you laid me back and fell into me, the words they'd written on your arms, and cheeks, and throat, the ink there bled off of you and formed tiny, cold rivulets that seeped onto my own trembling flesh.

head mead

i want to shake you til your teeth rattle
clacking in your head like an ancient game of knucklebones
and your skull all dry and hollow
yew tree wood.

it's filled with stuffy nothingness,
plumes of void
i pour it full of mouth-honey
wadded and sopping.

it sinks to the bottom, congeals in sticky lunks,
rots into mead, ferments into fizz
let's open it up in a year,
you'll share what you have in there,
i'll swallow it out of a mason jar.

nursling

long, slow gulps
she breathes like a deep sea diver
her eyes flicker open shut
in the last vestiges of wakefulness
i cradle her small head
the soft hair like wisps of wheat
nestled gentle downy in my elbow
her body used to lay dormant while she sipped
perhaps her hands would clasp a bit
and now she wriggles like monkey
wriggles like bug
almost a year
and i'm more in love
than i ever thought i could have been.

i was in NYC, in your apartment. you said it was time for me to leave. you walked me to the bus stop where a salesman i'd seen before (who had me completely convinced i needed his product but couldn't afford) was waiting. i was making jokes. he was laughing, you were laughing. you asked me to, instead of going home, come to the big party with you. you were looking so fine in a tux, and i was in my bathrobe. it was an mtv party and all the girls were supermodels in halter tops and sequined pants but i still fit in. with all the drinking and dancing and talking i could see that you were falling in love with me, even as i stood next to the beautiful girls. i was making everyone laugh hysterically. you put your arms around me. i felt so happy.

my dream woke me up. that happens a lot. a sweet south african boy, with pale glass-blue hair approached my cousin and i as we rode on a train through europe together. he was beautiful in every sense, his features high and clear, his voice rippled with an odd accent and exotic words. he sat next to me, put his hands on my hands, talked to me quietly, told me lovely things. i was aware of how much younger he was, than either myself or my cousin, but i didn't care. i was ready to do his bidding.

the train lurched to a stop, and i rose out of my seat and floated down the aisle to try and find the conductor to see what the problem was. i was expected, urgently, in austria. i don't know why. as i moved down the aisles past the private rooms, through the busy dining room, strange images floated through my field of vision that i knew weren't actually there riding on the dream train with me, but were, instead, a part of my dreaming imagination. a chimpanzee in a red coat with golden tassles and a matching shriner's hat. three women dressed as i imagined the muses of greek myth would be dressed, wearing long white robes and bare alabaster shoulders, feeding each other fruits, combing tresses, and laughing at me as i moved through them. a man with a handlebar moustache and thick round spectacles shouting at me from a doorway into a saloon. rain pelting down against a copper roof, as i stared out through a narrow, second-floor window into the night over the streets of paris, expecting someone, but seeing that the candle was burning low enough that i knew i should give up, and just go to sleep.

the train started moving again before i found a conductor to talk to, so i turned around to try and get back to my beautiful blue-haired boy. i was giddy. as i stepped into our car, however, my heart broke. he was sitting in my seat, head tilted back, eyes closed, and mouth a dark slit, as my cousin was straddled over him, riding him, both of them silent and concentrating. i pulled at the string of crystal beads i was wearing around my neck, snapped it off, sending beads flying around the car, and hurled what remained of the necklace at them in a jealous rage. they paused in their fornication, looked at me, smiling. i wanted to scream. i woke up instead.

we're in this doctor's office, me and mom, and auntie and cousins and niece. his wife has just had a baby. the baby is a girl, very pretty. his wife looks like daniel pearl's wife. she is happy. the doctor has meant for this to be a kind of welcoming party for the baby, but it is only hours after the birth and the mama is tired. she is laying on the examining table with the baby wrapped up in paper and gauze. one of the party games he wants us to play involves pushing another examining table up against hers, having me lie down next to her and then connecting us with two tubes to exchange fluids. one tube runs from my breast to hers, the other from her womb to mine. he tells me this will assist the baby i'm carrying in my womb to grow properly, and will assist his wife in transfering milk from my breasts to hers, to help her feed her newborn. he demonstrates with a doll, but scares me by injecting poison into the doll. i am shocked that i am pregnant again, since i just had my third child two weeks prior. everyone pats my belly and tells me to get my husband to have a vasectomy; the doctor says he performed his own vasectomy hours ago, shows me diagrams of the procedure. he has a grey and white beard and laughs about everything scary.

the other mama is very tired; he tells us all the party is over and that we should go home. we all get in the elevator and when i look up i see that the building we are in has 400 floors. the elevator has to switch shafts several times during our descent, going sideways at times. sometimes it even drops at an alarming rate, making little sadie (my niece) and i experience weightlessness. we are kind of scared but no one else feels the effects of the elevator free-falling but sadie and i. we arrive safely on the ground. when we step out of the building i find we were actually in my grandparents' old house in ontario.

i get in an old beat-up boat of a car to start driving home. it's a long drive and i'm excited at the prospect of a solo road-trip across the country. i drive for hours and hours and i can see my belly growing. when it starts to touch the steering wheel i realize i am lost. i pull into a gas station that is just about to close. a bunch of little girls who are maybe 8 or 9 are standing outside the glass door waving money at the proprietor and swearing at him for not selling them packages of cigarettes. i decide i need a smoke and knock on the locked door to ask him to sell me some. he shakes his head, thinking i'm going to buy a whole bunch and give them to the girls but i assure him that it's just for me. the girls all look deflated and sad when i tell them to forget it and go home.

he lets me in the booth and he and i start smoking together. he starts in on some diatribe about how it's so much bullshit that pregnant mothers are told to not smoke and drink - back in his day there were big pregnant mother parties in pubs and bars where they all got sloshed and smoked cigars, and look at how he and all his generation turned out...just fine! i am shocked that i can't seem to remember i'm pregnant again, and stub out the smoke and ask him for directions to white rock. he shrugs and gives me a map, but tells me i'm heading in the wrong direction and i'm closer to newfoundland than i am to b.c. i sigh and walk back towards my car, tossing the pack of cigarettes on the highway. the gaggle of 8 year old girls swoop in on it like vultures, picking over the cardboard box and foil wrappers, laughing and lighting up and throwing the garbage at me. i get in the car and drive away.

milk

last night a beautiful young native man was pursuing me. he wooed me with cigarettes and compliments. "young mothers are invaluable, sexy, alluring," he told me. "your body is shining and soft." he showed me an article he was writing, about veganism and the environment.

Rice milk won't solve the world's problems. Indeed, the world would have to break down the industry that already exists, and rebuild and further destroy more wild land to create and maintain the flood plains of giant rice paddies. The paradigm we should be working towards is that of an entirely milk-less society, whether that milk be from cows, goats, rats, soy beans, or rice. once we wean, we need only water as a beverage. All other liquids are food. Chew your milk.

i wanted to fuck him. his face was clear, smooth, the high cheekbones and defined jawline called to me on the basest of levels. he was probably 20, maybe 23. i could feel he wanted me in entirity, not just in body but in soul and mind. i was cruel and played the femme fatale, smoking his cigarettes, highlighting his ideas in my own words, mirroring his enthusiasm for our beach-swept surroundings.

he finally tired of my inability to commit to anything beyond petting, and left, moping, with one of his friends. i never got his name.

when i woke up this morning, i drank my coffee black.

bunny

breasts molded into your grasp
like vanilla plasticine
i moved in tiny gasps
like girls in magazines
i lied and said 'oh just like that'
i'm supposed to, right?
just laid there, splayed there
while you played there
did it every night.

how i learned to stop worrying and love the rock star draft dodgers

i was trying so hard to be a good granddaughter. i bought tickets to see the paul mccartney concert and wanted to take gramma with me. the problem is that she is suffering from dementia and is confused, flustered and frustrated most of the time. she kept forgetting who i was and where i was taking her.

she also likes to sleep until 2 or 3 o'clock in the afternoon most days, so i found myself puttering around the huge old house she was in (never been there before...my imagination must have conjured it up) until she got up. i realized as i looked out the living room window that we were situated across the street from a busy little city park. i could see my mister romping around in the field with the kids, and decided to join them while gramma slept.

playing was fun. we were falling all over ourselves, getting grass-stained knees, tackling each other and gasping into each other's faces, tickling and teasing and being crazy-mad in love. then i heard the planes.

we looked up into the sky to see four or six blue planes come swooping down over the park, spraying everything with some kind of blue misty stuff. i panicked and tried to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt, and keep the kids' noses and mouths covered too. mister was laughing at me, saying they were only spraying the park to combat the scourge of the asian gypsy moth, but i knew better. it was some sort of bio-chemical warfare being waged against us. i started to argue with him, when suddenly the planes proved my point for me, as they turned around, came back, and opened fire on the people in the park.

bodies were being riddled with bullets indiscriminately. little kids, moms in their keds and white shorts, dads carrying frisbees, everyone, falling all over the grass and playground, bleeding and screaming and the sound of gunfire deafening and cruel. i was weeping, thinking about how little my kids had gotten to experience, how i'd never taken gramma to that concert, and now it was going to be all over for us. if we weren't hit with gunfire, we'd be dead in a matter of days from the chemicals they sprayed on us.

mister grabbed julian and began running for the house while i dashed behind him with the baby inside my shirt. she was crying, clawing at my breasts, and no matter how i tried to soothe her with gasping noises of mama-ness, she wouldn't calm down. i was sure that at any moment the planes would come back and claim us as victims. instead, we made it back to house, and just as we slammed the door shut, we heard the first explosion. within miliseconds, the shockwave pushed the glass in the windows inwards, bending, swelling, groaning, but not breaking.

'holy shit,' said my mister, 'they got the oil refinary.'

'we'd better get gramma, and go into the basement,' i said. 'you get some water and food to take down there. i'll keep the kids and gramma with me.'

we split up, and i gathered a confused gramma up out of her bed. she wanted to keep her quilts and pillows around her which made it difficult for me to help her navigate her way down the rickety stairs into the cellar, but we managed.

another explosion nearby rocked the house around us. i heard glass breaking breaking somewhere. my mister never made it to the basement. i tried to not think about it.

you can imagine my surprise when, after i got my gramma and kids snuggled in together, i looked up to see paul mccartney and a huge entourage of his people also hiding in our basement. he looked sheepish.

"hello," he said. "i hope you don't mind, but we were on our way to the stadium when all this happened. we needed somewhere to hide out."

"uh...yeah. no problem," i replied.

he was wearing jeans and a worn-out old black t-shirt that said '103.7 FM'. he didn't look all that old. i wondered where his wife was.

"can i...uh...have your autograph?" i asked.

"least i can do," he said, smiling. he signed an old yellowed crinkly newspaper that he found on the basement floor. as he handed it to me, another explosion caused the house to tremble around us. my kids and gramma all started crying. i hugged paul mccartney and then went to be with them.

we were huddled in two groups, paul's entourage of body guards and personal assistants and friends, me and my demented gramma and weeping kids. some of the body guards tried to keep my kids entertained by making silly faces and folding origami animals out of the labels off of the cans of beans and fruit i had stored down there. i was getting sleepy, when i realized that one of the guys in paul's entourage was lou reed. a huge stone formed in my throat. he was wearing a porkpie hat and big, thick-lensed glasses, and leather vest over a short-sleeved button-up shirt. he looked as though he was getting off on what was happening. every time we heard an explosion, he'd grin.

i knew i was being inappropriate, but i couldn't help myself. i left my kids and gramma again, and wandered over to the rock stars' side of the basement. "you're lou reed," i said.

"yep."

i put my arms around him, and held him for a moment. he put his arms around me, too. when we released each other, i kept my hands on his arms and just stared and stared. i couldn't think of one thing to say. i wanted to talk to him about his album 'songs for drella' and his relationship with andy warhol. i wanted to ask him to have sex with me. i wanted to explain to him how much his music had meant to me over the years. how it had affected me. how it had made me feel joyful, angst-ridden, angry, humorous. none of that came out, though.

"give me something," i said to him, finally. "give me something of yours."

he looked mildly amused. "i don't have anything, really," he said, holding out his hands. "i only brought my smokes and some money and stuff." i kept looking at him, kept my hands on him. finally he started digging around in his pockets. from one of his front jeans pockets he pulled out a mass of paper and money and lint.

"here," he said, handing it to me. "you can have this."

i went back to the corner where my family was huddled and started sorting through the treasures he'd given me. two $20 bills. some reciepts. a soda pop can tab. a carbon copied sheet of something official looking.

it was tom waits' draft notice.