Today at my new job (which seems nice and calm), I scratched a few tiny poems out into my black moleskine (the one that never ever leaves me) as I waited for the lady who is to be my co-worker/supervisor to arrive for the day. It was odd to be there, but it made sense all at once. I could walk over to my purple purse and remove the black book with its indigo pen but that would be too literal.

I wrote about amber bottles, and what liquids hid within them. I wrote about the still of the early morning, of the bitter swirl of office coffee.

I wrote it fast and I wrote it clean and I wrote it with all my little heart.

I still get home in time to light candles and chop carrots and feed the men by sunset. Am happy.


"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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