i've dreamt about you every night. sometimes you are bringing me presents. sometimes we are just laughing in the kitchen holding beers. sometimes we are kissing. last night, we were in the backseat of someone's car, mystery person driving us who-knows-where. i was sad, curled up against the door, head resting on the window, trying to sleep. i think we were running away. you were holding my hand softly. sometimes you would touch my hair or cheek. you kissed the knuckles on my first two fingers. i was crying and afraid but your tenderness saved me from utter despair.

i could tell you small details about yourself that you would think went unnoticed

your cavalier mouth opening to finish off a glass of wine, mid-laugh
the adam's apple bobbing in an olive throat as you swallow, smooth shave
and the thoughtful way you mingle its tannins with the shiny mint
gloss i left on your lips as a kiss hello.

a crisp white cuff rolled over tanned forearm, tendons moving
and fingers lingering above certain piano chords, head bent
low in lost thought, short black hairs on the back of your neck raised
at my breath, fuming with liquor, and clinging to your body.

the blackfall of your eyelashes over pupils, lowered gaze
and smile lines deepening in response to my conspiratorial whispers
the conchshell swirl of your ear accepting all my unabashed promises
and the faint traces of your fingerprints causing friction under my skirt.

every layer of scent on your body: light cologne, fresh soap, pheromone
that unconcious sound you make over and behind me in our darkened room
every ripple in your body's muscles, a flexing loin, sheets in fists
your deep, soft cry. an out-of-mind overflowing declaration: in love, in love.

i see little boy you and old man you and all points between, in pale morning light
with your breathing in, and out, and an arm cast lazily against the headboard
your chest sunken in dreams, belly up, belly down
i rest my cheek there, count the dark hairs. my wrist white, your hip brown.

hotel room

hotelroom

it's one a.m and the clock numbers are blue, not red
flashing, not still
and the windows to the room
are blacker than night
a picture of pitch
a maw in wallpaper
textured art deco.



hotelyou.

i woke up to a breath unfamilliar, not unpleasant
hot, not a smell
and the pillow case on my cheek
was stiffer than starch
a crispy paper
a glow in my ear
fresh dis-ease.



hotelme.

i remember coming around, not from sleep
drunkenness, not giddy
and my head felt heavier than my body
loagier than luggage
a stuffed rock
a sloshing in my helmet
gurgling decisions.



hotelus.

your hands bigger, but not more than my breasts
observation, not comparison
and you moved slower than my husband
older than both of us
a gentle patron of discontent
a father figure
conjuring satisfaction.



hotelstay.

it's four a.m and your face is blank, not dreaming
mouth open, not speaking
and i hear a word in my head
discussing our engagement
a hint of disapproval
a smirk of satisfaction
slipping into cabs.



hoteldawn.

what i want is not rational

passion (not anger)
tranquility (not boredom)

sweetness (not saccharine)
gentle (not soft)

teeth (not bone)
seeing (not perspective)

rushing (not hasty)
secrets (not lies).

last night i dreamed i was at this outrageously fancy wedding, with no kids or husband. and at the table where i was seated was matthew mcconaughey. we were having a pleasant chat all through the meal and he kept pouring me glasses of wine. finally it was time to get up and dance and he asked me if i would dance with him. of course i said yes, but i was nearly sloppy drunk and apologized to him in advance for my terrible dancing skills. he laughed and took me in his arms and we started moving to the music, real ballroom-type stuff. i had on this long, rich scarlet red and gold dress with fairy sleeves and bare shoulders. he was in a simple tux. as we dnanced i started asking him questions about his work and life and he said something like, "nothing prepared me for meeting someone like you, christa". and i blushed and said, "i could have danced with anyone here tonight, you know!" and he said, "well, why did you pick me, then?" and i said, "because i always pick the celebrities that i know like to smoke the most pot," to which he laughed and laughed. after a few songs i asked him about hollywood weddings and how many of them seemed to be PR stunts or marriages of convenience and he agreed that that did seem to be the case with most. suddenly i was overtaken with a drunken case of the vapours so strong i excused myself to the ladies room, which was more opulant than even the fanciest hotel room i'd stayed in. i lay on a long blue velvet couch and closed my eyes for just a moment. when i opened them again, i realized i had been a fool to leave matthew mcconaughey alone out there, when he had seeemed so into me, and so many of the other women at the wedding had seemed so into him. i got up in a panic to rush back out, but when i pulled the door open i saw through the crack that several mobsters had stormed the reception, and most people had cleared out. these two gorrilla men were walking around the reception hall with baseball bats and metal rods and chasing two other mobster-type guys. matthew mcconaughey was standing by the door leading out, his face bloodied, using his knuckles to wipe it off his upper lip, looking at the blood briefly, and then turning his attention back to the violence at hand. i was trapped, the fight was happening between me and matthew mcconaughey and the exit. he spotted me and made a hand motion like, "what are you doing? come on, come on!" i swallowed hard, took a deep breath, waited until the two mob guys with the bats and rods were busy beating on the other two mob guys again, and ran for it. matthew mcconaughey caught me in his arms at the other side, and we burst through the doors to the parking lot. he was laughing and bleeding on my dress. i mashed my mouth against his and he pulled away quickly and said, "uh, christa? i don't know if you know this, but...i'm gay."

i'm in a large, old, drafty, unfamilliar house. it's late afternoon or looks like it by the light filtering in through the smeary windows. i hear a man's voice, ominous, coming from one of the upper rooms in the house and another noise that sounds awful and wet. i find a staircase and start climbing it, and his voice gets louder and deeper and i realize he's chanting bible verses. i find the room he's in, the door is open a crack already, and i kick it all the way open. he is standing there with a bible in one hand, held out as though he is at the pulpit, and he's chanting and chanting in a booming voice. in his other hand, he is crushing the throat of a small girl - maybe three years old. she is only hanging there, limp, though from the wet choking noises she's making i can tell she is still alive. i lunge at him, surprised to see i have a large rock in my hand already, and just as i get close enough to brain him with it, i realize the girl is me.

wake up from the noise of me shouting in my sleep.


later in the morning i dream i am in the livingroom and the dog is barking to be let in from the deck. i open the door and she won't come in, and seems focused on the area underneath our patio doors. when i lean down i see that some kind of animal has chewed some holes there and crawled into our walls. it is still busy at work, in fact, and bits of wood dust are wisping out of the holes as i watch. i step back inside and call leon to come see. he emerges from the basement and as we stand on the deck to see if it's rats or not, we discover it is in fact two old mangy cats. they crawl out of the holes they've dug in our home and stare at us. one is black and white and has medium-length fur, all matted and patchy. the other is a grey and white siamese-cross, and as i look closer at it i see that it is probably blind. suddenly the dog lunges at the cats, viciously. we are shocked as one cat retreats back into the hole but the dog manages to grab the blind siamese and begins shaking it violently in her mouth. the cat makes no noise but i'm screaming at leon to make the dog let the cat go. he says, "i don't know. there's something creepy and wrong with those cats." i keep screaming, "make her drop it! make her drop it!" and finally he makes a move to grab the dog by her collar, but it's too late. the dog rips the cat's head completely from it's body.

wake up again from the noise of me shouting in my sleep.

the worst married couple in the world

she made such a huge fuss in the mornings, the pots and pans having nothing to do with tea
still yowling and when pressed she would make-up her stories
and batches of pancakes:
whole grain.

the entire while this would happen and he would hover tentatively, forever in the way
and frustrating, but never near enough to solve her problems
or to stir the batter:
left lumpy.

she could love him in her strange way, her body uncertain but wanting to yield
an affront to liberation, torn between respect for herself
and release of shame:
simple tears.

but he never managed to find the way through that complicated morning maze she wove
angry for her mother's disdain and taking it out on dishes
clawing at the taps:
howling inside.

in wafts and tendrils his body moved away, quiet but still reassuring her in backward glances
(how can damage be undone in its making, he wondered)
and in free (stolen) moments:
found solace.

three hours ago:
scurrilous kisses left burn marks on my mouth; ribald love left bruises on my heart.

you creeping around my windows on rainy sunday afternoons, sniffing around my skirt resulted in
a crime of opportunity: war on my willing thighs.

you thief of sighs! your minimalist meetings, your condensed feelings,
remind me of someone i knew
a spring ago.

we went to catch tadpoles today

but there was a fence around the pond

with a sign that said:

"please don't catch the tadpoles, even with the intent to release them. the frogs are all endangered, which threatens all the herons.

and when the herons are gone what animal will thrill you with it's visage

standing in the muck-filled ditches on the sides of the freeway

while you speed past

crushing insects under-tire?"

i will not hold you

i will not hold you
to thick promises made
in secret compartments
dark
and full

unless the world somehow expanded within
and we found our feet
touching shyly, surprised to be
bare
and smooth.

i will not hold you
to sweet declarations made
in imaginary courtrooms, oaths sworn
indignant
and false

unless my dreams flew out-of-mind
and beat this reality down
so that lips and fingertips would flow
fast
and sparkling.