Archive | September, 2014


25 Sep

I was in the wrong house.


20 Sep

I couldn’t find my bank card. I showed the teller some cards, but he said, no, they weren’t the ones. I was on the floor, sorting through my cards, when I finally remembered it was in a different pouch. Someone who was standing in line behind me, a rocker type with long, scraggly blond hair and smelling of cigarettes, suggested I come back another day. I told him I wasn’t coming back. I gave the card to the teller, but he was off shift and had to read all the information into his phone, which looked like a Band-Aid, but then I saw that he had on earphones.


20 Sep

There are things I think that make me want to stop thinking altogether.


19 Sep

I found clues to who I had been in the papers I discovered in drawers and file cabinets when I returned to the cabin that summer. There were huge gaps between what I found on one side of a given sheet of paper and what I found on the other side. On the one hand, I was a committee that was building something next to a park at the end of the street. On the other hand, I was deeply in love with the sticky residue left by the words I was scattering onto the page like seed sprayed into water by fish.


16 Sep

Now I was married. I had a cat.


15 Sep

I was massaging the neck of the man in the bank. I was standing in front of him when I became aware that I had my hands on his shoulders. He was sitting in a chair. He reached up to massage his own shoulders. Our hands touched. I asked if he wanted me to continue to massage his shoulders. He told me, Do it more gently. So I tried. How’s that, I asked.