LETTERS TO A FRIEND

dear rita mae,

my whole life has been leading to the particular ugliness of this moment.

greasy bangs dripping into my periphery

wait, do you remember

that white kid named bodhi?

was it short for bodhisattva?

on nights grotesque with longing

the shapes get blurry


my ex-boyfriend used to sing landslide

at karaoke as a joke

which is ridiculous

we all are getting older

i mean look at all the shrines

etched into the pavement

my body is extremely efficient

when it comes to removing things

it doesn’t need (sweat, shit)

do you remember the kelp forest?

do you remember the ice plant,

and the purple hills?

also

i can’t stop imagining what his dick looks like

it’s just really hard to know

when to move and when to stay still!


i’ll let you know when i’m back in monterey

dear rita mae,


i got wet thinking about him on the way to school

i am vibrating with desire

and yes it’s been killing me to keep it inside

we were taught to pray for our husbands and we did

but not in the way they meant


a secret longing bellows out of me

always the impulse to consume myself, and to be consumed


i’ve been craving anchovy pasta, parsley, garlic

i copied your tomato tofu recipe

the sound of rain on a tin roof

screaming our questions to the stars


do you remember chugging bloody marys

picking up pizza for the men's camp

the man staring at us from across the bar?

do you remember learning to move your hips in a figure eight?


i do


there are unexplained noises that come from the ocean

it is my intention to discover their source


i think i might go off grid for awhile

i think i’ve been wearing too much white

dear rita mae,

i am writing to you from the mouth of the underworld

on my way to face my demons
and i keep thinking of hans
taking up so much space in your kitchen

over-explaining how to bake bread 


and the man who nearly broke down your door

just to say goodbye

we’re both tasting new nectars now
you were steadfast for seven years
and i was alone on purpose for once

making potions out of scraps


was there a time before yearning? what existed then 

i still have no idea what those noises are 

i’m so glad i finally asked you
about those bruises on your shoulder
and told you what happened that night downtown


plucking guitar strings in the summer heat
passing around a bowl of magic water


all of my friends are witches
some of them don’t know it but they all are

do you remember laughing over the absurd sensuality of figs?

the way they so coyly splay themselves open?


soon i will be spreading my legs just like that

i have been virginal for long enough
i want to be split in two

Farah Abouzeid

FARAH ABOUZEID (she/her) is a writer and teacher from Monterey, California. She studied Literature and Writing at UCSD, where her play Social Suicide, a dark comedy about an eighth-grade presidential election, was produced by the Undergraduate New Play Festival. She recently completed her MFA in Creative Writing at Cal Arts, where she worked as a teaching assistant in the School of Critical Studies. Her thesis project, a poetry collection titled Dreamphone, is inspired by the underworld journey of Persephone, depicted through a mystical transformation into a mermaid. Farah is currently based in Los Angeles, where she writes poetry and fiction and works as a birth doula and tarot reader.

Previous
Previous

run away with me (not like that)

Next
Next

You Dance unprompted