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