Christine
Christine once told me she would never describe herself as sweet.
I wondered, then, what does she see herself as?
Her middle name, Lee, is a version of Lena, her grandmother. And my middle name, Lenore, a version of Eleanor. When do we stop becoming versions of one another?
Lena is a name I would describe as sweet. I think that will be my daughter's middle name. But not a version of it.
Other people describe Christine as generous and giving, that her heart is in the right place. Some describe me as that way too.
It used to bother me that she didn't think of herself as sweet, because I see myself that way. I guess I need to stop thinking of myself in versions of Christine.
Brooklyn
the sun rises, the morning glory opens
its vine climbs up the harsh criss-crossed metal, a symbol for the city which contains it.
children run their hands along the fence, the occasional flower casualty springs a foot on my chest.
I pick up this fallen warrior, ten years later make it permanent opposite my heart.
Lucid Dreamers
We think in symbols.
We sleep with pens and pads at our bedside, quick to scurry every last bear and shirt color we saw
where we've been, who was there.
Some say we are peculiar, that we must have seen something that day for it to reappear at night, that dreams are unimportant.
Our boyfriends get frustrated when we are mad at them for something their dream selves did the night before.
We lay awake, worrying what horrifying details we'll remember in the morning, envious of the dreamless sleepers.
A ladybug means spirituality, I must need to be more spiritual. I was pregnant, that must mean a new idea is forming.
We dream in symbols with our real life and dream life rattling together like an instrument, the guessing game being the sound waves in between.
Christine once told me she would never describe herself as sweet.
I wondered, then, what does she see herself as?
Her middle name, Lee, is a version of Lena, her grandmother. And my middle name, Lenore, a version of Eleanor. When do we stop becoming versions of one another?
Lena is a name I would describe as sweet. I think that will be my daughter's middle name. But not a version of it.
Other people describe Christine as generous and giving, that her heart is in the right place. Some describe me as that way too.
It used to bother me that she didn't think of herself as sweet, because I see myself that way. I guess I need to stop thinking of myself in versions of Christine.
Brooklyn
the sun rises, the morning glory opens
its vine climbs up the harsh criss-crossed metal, a symbol for the city which contains it.
children run their hands along the fence, the occasional flower casualty springs a foot on my chest.
I pick up this fallen warrior, ten years later make it permanent opposite my heart.
Lucid Dreamers
We think in symbols.
We sleep with pens and pads at our bedside, quick to scurry every last bear and shirt color we saw
where we've been, who was there.
Some say we are peculiar, that we must have seen something that day for it to reappear at night, that dreams are unimportant.
Our boyfriends get frustrated when we are mad at them for something their dream selves did the night before.
We lay awake, worrying what horrifying details we'll remember in the morning, envious of the dreamless sleepers.
A ladybug means spirituality, I must need to be more spiritual. I was pregnant, that must mean a new idea is forming.
We dream in symbols with our real life and dream life rattling together like an instrument, the guessing game being the sound waves in between.
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