I often ponder on the significance of a river. Each drop of water having started far away from where it began. Circling the globe and the skies before coming to this place. I dip my toes in the ocean and bring my hands together. I lean down and let the water fall in my hands. I bring it up and wonder where it all began.
Short Talk on Cats
The cat doesn’t think much when he asks for something. To him, what he wants is something necessary. He doesn’t want or need to justify it. He only demands with his long loud meows that carry through the house. He wants food (two hours early). He wants water (his bowl is still full). He wants pets (alright since I have time). But more than anything, he wants to be heard.
Short Talk on the Color Blue
It’s naturally unnatural. It sits above us at all times at varying shades. It melds with other colors yet will always return to its glorious blue. Yet so few things are naturally blue. Flowers, blueberries, the ocean. It’s not like the color green or brown. Natural colors that somehow lack the vibrancy of the blue sky. The blue planet.
Short Talk on a Computer
I am writing this on a computer, not paper. I wonder why.
Short Talk on Whispering
Whisper for two reasons. One there is someone you do not want to awaken as they sleep peacefully. And two, you are sharing a secret. If I hear the first I think fond thoughts. When I hear the second, I want to disappear.
Short Talk on Shadows
At least something will always follow you, even in the darkness of night. They’re always next to you. I ought to remember that more.
Short Talk on Best Friends
She wasn’t my friend. That is for certain. Yet then, all I could do was listen to her and do what she said. Because she was my best friend.
Short Talk on Acquaintances
These might someday be best friends.
Short Talk on Water
Matter cannot be created or destroyed only changed. This water in my hands not only has traveled the globe but may have once not even been water. It may have come from space. It may one day return.
Short Talk on Elevators
Ding. They enter one by one. First floor, fifth floor, sixth. Wandering eyes and hesitant greetings. Twiddling fingers and odd smells. You never know who you are standing near. Coffee breathes, sunken eyes. Girl on the left finally coming in from her night out at the crack of dawn. As Bill holds in his tears from the fight last night. Tina celebrates her raise as Mark worries about the oven being left on.
Short Talk on Group Chats
Guess who. Guess what. Guess how. LMAAOO, LOL! Where good people go to hell.
Short Talk on Hair Salons
My stylist is so scissor-happy you can never grow an inch without her chopping them off because my split ends touch the scalp. Health over length, well who cares! Happiness over all. Glaring through the mirror imagining they snap right off her perfectly gel-manicured nails. Echoing snips and chatter, sucking the tears in as memories of her daily affirmations disappear. Ashley hands me a coke, her pomade greased fingers printed on the can. Distance from ends to ear shortens.
Short Talk on Pens
This pen doesn’t write much, but raises volumes for the unspoken. This pen feels the pressure and swift movements, the sweat and fear. Will it be understood, ink from the soul spilled and enraged on the page. Mirrored bodies, but one vulnerable enough to release itself onto one. Cartridge emptied with satisfaction, picking at the waxy stopper of the nib.
Short Talk on Tools
Inanimate but adamant. Bob never lacked trust in his tools, always in the back handy and dandy. Job relies on them, income relies on them, and social life relies on them. Not a rare occurrence for neighbors to find him conversing and fussing around with the tools. Never a true worry because of Bob’s impeccable craft. He paints, he builds. The man might be odd, but the appreciation of Bob and his tools has been the town secret that never goes questioned. Just Bob and his tools.
Short talk on trees:
Oregon is greener than here. Yes, it may be gray 70% of the year but at least it is beautiful and alive not dead and barren during the winter. Here, during the most beautiful falls I have ever seen, all the leaves fall off the trees, making them color the landscape with brown and gray. The greener is taken from the world here and there seems to be little color left. Yes, there are more sunny days, but you have to look up high in the sky to find its radiance. Sometimes, there beaty of snow transforms the gray wastelands into something beautiful but then the snow melts leveling the brown and gray, just with more salt now. In Oregon, fewer trees die each fall. Most of the trees are fern and pine dress that stay green throughout the winter. The rain continues to come down as winter passes but the life of nature is still alive. With each new rain, you can smell the plants and trees rejoicing from their encounters with water. The nature surrounding you feels comforting in a way the nothingness of the New England winter does not.
Short talks about calling family members
Every week or so I get a text from my mom asking me how I am doing. This is my sign that I need to call my parents again. Most of the time, I have already decided that I should call them, I just haven’t yet. But I find some time and spend twenty to forty minutes updating my parents on my life and asking for updates on theirs. This cycle then repeats over and over. My twin sister is similar but calls more regularly. My older sister and I talk the least. We both are busy and do not find it necessary to talk that much. I love my family members and feel really guilty that I do not call them as much as I should. But I find that I have spent all my energy being here and present in my moments in college that I feel tired and in no mood to talk at the end of the day when I finally have time to call. Sometimes I just do not have much to say. I think my parents understand but I worry. I feel like I’m losing a battle that I did not know I was facing. I also should call my grandparents, and see how they are doing. Call my friend who never answers his text. But I never really call anyone as much as I should
Short talks about the future
Where should I live? Nowhere sounds good yet everywhere sounds like an adventure. I want to be happy where I live. That is my real goal. But how will I know that I will be happy? What if I waste an amazing choice to be happy by going to the wrong place? Right now I have endless options but they will not be endless for long. Yes, I could move later if I wanted to but money does not grow on trees and life somehow settles wherever you are. Being an adult seems like it sucks a lot but having good people around seems to make it better. Do I still close with the people I know now or try to move somewhere where making friends will be easy? But what about my family? I knew I never was going to move back to Oregon. But recently that has broken my heart a little. I will never spend long periods with my parents anymore. No summer breaks or extended winter holidays. Now the grind of American work culture that only gives 2 weeks of vacation time a year. Two weeks. — Now I can see why all of my parent’s vacation time when I was growing up was spent seeing family. I never went to many true vocations as a kid. We spent two weeks in the summer and two weeks in the winter in California visiting family instead of going to Hawaii or Colorado like all of the kids in my class did. But that is the price you pay for leaving thousands of miles away from family. But I want to travel and live in other countries and live an amazing life – yet still be able to visit my family. Maybe I should live in California for a little while. Be close for a few years to ward off my guilt of never being as close as I should be. Maybe Canada will be as far as I ever move. My choices are endless yet forever limited by my own morality and monetary responsibility.
Short talks on friendships
I will buy the raccoon you are selling at the fundraiser. I know you are sad to give him up. I will put him in our room where you can see him.
Short talks on friendships pt 2.
I asked you all what I should write my next short talk about. I am retroactively not taking suggestions.
Short talks on winning
No, they don’t like to play that boardgame with me anymore. Yeah, that one too. To be fair I didn’t mean to make anyone cry during it. I just think that if you’re gonna be that far off while guessing you should be a little bit ashamed. Oh yeah Bannagrams too now. I won four straight games last week. It ended badly.
Short talks on connecting
You told me to ride in the car with mom. She misses me more when I’m in college so I should chat with her while I can. We laughed at you when you called me 5 times in that hour and a half, everytime you had an idea for the play we were working on together. You waved at us when our cars passed each other.
Short talks on homework
It’s so hard to type when you’re singing “pussy pussy pussy marijuana” in the background. I ask you to stop. “You can’t stop this”. The singing continues.
Short talks on dreams
Of fight, flight, and freeze, I’m glad I wake up frozen. I have so many nightmares and you’re a light sleeper. The dream was pretty ridiculous now that I think about it. I turn back over knowing we’ll overanalyze it tomorrow.
Short Talk on The Easter Bunny:
My mother told me that I never saw the Easter Bunny because he was always right behind me, hidden from my searching eyes. In hindsight this seems creepy, but at the time it made total sense. I spent that Easter walking with my eyes straight ahead pretending to be oblivious of this newly discovered information. Every couple of minutes I would spin around desperate to catch a glimpse.
Short Talk on Gum:
Why is gum so forbidden? God forbid you got caught with gum in your mouth at school; trying to hide it by smooshing it to the roof of your mount when your teacher insists you open wide. When I was in fourth grade my teacher let us have “gum day” every Friday. It felt so cool to be able to do something so rebellious. To know that we were different from other kids, and that Mr. Meyers trusted we would be good and not stick it under our desks. We were mature like that.
Short Talk on My Dad:
I heard about some girl at UMass that was inviting old guys over to her dorm. Do people think that when my dad comes to visit?
Short Talk on Beauty:
“I wish I could appreciate ones beauty without questioning my own”
Sometimes people say insightful things in the comment sections of tik tok.
Short Talk on Long Distance
My mother and I do better separate. Something about being under the same roof leaves room only for tension and arguments. When we are apart we spend hours on the phone. We laugh, talk about work, discuss economics, gossip. I don’t know how I’m going to survive another summer.
Short Talk on Productivity:
The feeling of reward is so strong when I finish my work efficiently, well, and ahead of time. And the feeling of guilt is so dreadful when it’s the night before and I have three assignments that have been living in the back of my brain beginning thursday, following to friday, getting progressively worse through saturday, and finally becoming unignorable by sunday night. And yet this pattern has followed me relentlessly and will continue; my not so subtle stalker.
Short Talk on Phones
It bugs me that old people find such humor in questioning their younger counterparts on whether they know what a rotary phone is, or why movies are sometimes called films. It’s honestly just insulting. We’re not dumb and oblivious, our attention only being held by the screens of our phones which no, do not require the memorization of phone numbers. I know we have it easy.
Short talk on pregames
It’s common courtesy to show up 5 minutes late to a pregame (when I know someone better than you who is already there), and it is absolutely horrific to show up 30 minutes early when I am still in my pajamas printing out Jacob Elordi’s elbow. “Crazy pregame vibe guys,” yeah, no kidding. Please leave and come back in 35 minutes.
Short talk on anger
I am the passive-aggressive type and so are you even though you might disagree with me. You handle your anger worse than me, you wear it on your sleeve and I don’t think it’s fair because sometimes I swear I don’t deserve it, but I apologize! Pent-up anger…I know I make you mad and you make me mad. It sits uncomfortable in my chest, like a slimy warm ball of mud full of grass and bugs. It seeps into my fingers and pollutes my eyes and tone of voice and I can’t remember how I act when I am not coughing up mud. It’ll pass, but it’s gross.
Short talk on food
Some days ago I went to a fancy restaurant on a school’s dime, thus, I ordered an expensive shrimp scampi and Shirly temple. As I bit into that juicy shrimp I began to think about the good food I’ve eaten in my life. I mean good food that makes you stop and appreciate the art of food. And honestly, I realized I don’t eat good food all that often. Maybe I’m too cheap. I told my dad this realization and he understood exactly what I meant. None of my friends quite got it. Maybe all that good food stuff comes with age.
Short talk on hair
It just grazes the middle of her back and when she leans her head all the way back it touches her butt. Long in the way that little girls’ hair is because they are so tiny. It’s the type of dirty blond that will one day turn brown. Real brown. Her hair is soft like it’s a pair of worn blue jeans. No split ends or breakage it just keeps growing. Her mom trims the ends for her, saying it will keep it healthy, and she thinks hair grows from the bottom down. She tells me that she wants to grow it as long as Rapunzel and put a single blue streak in her hair just like her best friend has. I feign surprise and wonder at her outlandish goal, I don’t think she knows it is impossible for hair to get that long and thick, but what do I know anyway? Maybe she’ll be the first to make it there. I wish her the best and I braid her hair.
Short talk about crushes
Passing through like the breeze on a sweltering summer day. Surprising, a relief, it makes my hair dance, it is cool on my bare legs, I breathe it in and sigh. It is gone in an instant and I am left mourning it, wondering why things come and go like that. I am back to being sweltering hot, but if the breeze were to stay forever surely I would get cold, uncomfortably cold. I am fine being hot and enjoying a popsicle, I am fine that the breeze does not last, but one day I hope it does.
Short Talk on Thinking
I’ve been told I think too much. What’s too much? It seems awfully arbitrary. Why bother to say that at all if you can’t hear my thoughts? Why bother to stop thinking when it’s what got me here?
Short Talk on Immortality vs. Immorality
I said that I loved “Because I could not stop for Death” but I didn’t know the words. I’d read it once and it had spoken to me, but I confused immortality with immorality. Maybe that says something about me or what I had grown up surrounded by. Maybe all it says is that my memory is bad. Whatever the reason, I was wrong. Can you love something you don’t remember? Can you love something that you don’t know? Was that a lie or did I love something for what it wasn’t? I love it now for what it is — if that means anything.
Short Talk on Track
I don’t really like to run. I mean, I like to sprint. Well, I like to sprint well. Sprinting poorly apparently feels terrible. I learned that this year. Taking a year off isn’t accepted in sports. I didn’t have a choice about it — my back too far gone to allow me to feel the wind against my face in that light as air way — but a lack of choice doesn’t make it ok. I wish I felt what I did then. It’s hard to be captain when the talent isn’t quite there to back up the thoughts. Advice feels meaningless when I can’t take it myself. But I stick around because I love to sprint, and I have dreams where I feel the sun and energy again. I talk like it’s fine but it’s really not and all I can do is talk like the dreams are real, talk like they will be real, but I don’t know if they ever will be.
Short Talk on Pride and Prejudice
It’s my favorite book. It genuinely is my favorite. It’s one of only a handful of books — literally a list so short I can count it on my hand — that I’ve read multiple times. I hated it when I read it at first. It was tedious and long and I was on a time crunch. It’s one of my mother’s favorite books. I said it was mine too and then it stopped being a lie. How often can we delude ourselves into something? Can we really change who we are by sheer determination alone?
Short Talk on Creative Writing
I like this more than I thought I could. International Relations and French seem like odd degrees if I want to be a writer.
Short Talk on Hozier
I’m not smart enough to write lyrics like that but I can accept that. It’s a bit more literary than I am. It’s historical in a different way. Mythological and bright as opposed to war, pain, and sadness. I’m not very earthy either. I never really wanted to play outside. Maybe it’ll help keep my skin ok. I heard redheads were always supposed to get skin cancer when I was younger. From experience, that’s not the worst that could happen though.
Short Talk on “I”
Every sentence wants to start with “I.” Is it a reflection of individualistic ideas? Am I centering myself? Do you see me as self-obsessed? Are we no longer friends because of any reason or just because the distance got long, and time got far? You must think I was insufferable back then. I think I was in hindsight. Even now I keep saying “I.” Is that bad?
Short Talk on Non-fiction vs. Fiction vs. Poetry
I want to write novels, decidedly fiction novels. Fantasy to be specific. But I think that’s where I’m worst. I worry about not improving that area. I’m not sure I’m fantastic at poetry, I only sometimes get it, but writing my thoughts on paper is something I am well accustomed to. Non-fiction is simpler, a daily life activity only slightly dialed up. Poetry is to be determined. Fiction feels like trying to strip a decade of writer’s block off in one sitting.
Short Talk on Bikes
We used to ride from your house to that crab apple tree down the winding hill. We used to ride from your house to Target, weaving between wildflowers and meadows of tall grass. We used to ride to that tunnel under the road covered in graffiti. We used to ride to my house to swim in the pool across the street. We used to ride to that small pond hidden behind weeping willows and pretend that we were hidden entirely from the outside world — peacefully in a place where no one could find us, and life was more adventure than real. We used to ride loops around the neighborhood, fast at the corner and slow down the hill. We used to ride together in summer but never in winter. We used to ride bikes that belonged to us, to siblings, to friends, and we used to ride them for hours without thinking of anything to come.
Short talk on the apocalypse
I recently learned that apocalypse refers to a literary genre of revelations of the future. We usually think of it as meaning the end of the world, which is also true. The end of the world has happened many times before me, so I am not as special as I think I am. I learned that in one instance of the end of the world, came a mushroom. The end of the world came today, for me, on a Monday. Apocalypse, once again, over and over again. From my apocalypse, came some french fries.
Short talks on snow
Snow is a mystery to me. Snow used to be the white fluff that fell to the ground from the tree in from of my old apartment during spring. It got into my dogs’ paws and in the crevices of car tires and shoes and got dragged into the apartment. I called it snow because I’d never seen snow before. It was white like snow and got everywhere like snow, but it wasn’t cold, crunchy, or wet like snow. It was a mysterious white fluff that came every spring. That tree only existed there, so I never saw it again. I remember it like a dream.
Short talks on sewing machines
My back aches and cracks and curves as I sit for hours. Measure, fold, pin, iron, sew. Repeat. I fear of sewing over my finger because it happened once on Project Runway. My lines are crooked even though I do everything in my power to make them straight. I fear not sewing perfectly. But, sometimes it’s okay for things to be crooked you can barely see them anyway. So I sit with my foot on the pedal like I’m driving a car and I continue.
A short talk on driving permits
Sometimes it takes a girl like me three permits to get her driver’s license. Sometimes to acquire the third one, a girl like me has to take the test three times in one day because I keep failing it. Then the DMV security guard befriends me since I have been in there for hours rotting away and he tells me that I should just get a boyfriend with a driver’s license and a car. It would be harder for me to get a boyfriend nonetheless, so I stayed in the DMV and finally passed the permit test for the third time.
Short talk on Sleep Walking
I think sleepwalking is creepy, just in general. One year in college my sister came and visited me. One night, she just sat up in bed, stood up, walked over to the middle of the room and stood there until my roommate told her she was okay and to go back to bed. She did so. The next night at the exact same time, I sat up in bed, stood up, walked over to the middle of the room and stood there until my roommate told me it was okay and to go back to bed. I can’t remember a time I woke up so creeped out.
Short talk on Reading
I love reading, but not on computers. I get distracted. No, instead I love reading hard copies. I love reading books, even if they are classics. I just want paper in my hand.
Short talk on Libby (roommate)
Libby and I have a wonderful relationship. When I took a break from writing and reading, we sat here for an hour watching Tik Toks and sending them back and forth to each other. Each video she sent me I got a cackle out of. It’s the little things in life that make me appreciate it.
Short talk on lacrosse
It’s freezing outside. I don’t think we have had a warm practice yet. A lot of people complain about practicing in the cold and outside, and sometimes I do too, but most of the time I LOVE the cold. The cold calls out to me, it reminds me of home. The brisk air beating across my beet red cheeks. The steam coming off of your sweaty body and drifting into the cold of night. The specific burning of your throat as you run around in the cold. The feeling of relief when you step inside back into warmth after a cold practice. The unthawing of your fingertips from your lacrosse stick. Sometimes my hands get stuck in claw-like grips. I love it. All of it. It feels rewarding.
Short talk on coffee
I don’t know what I would do in my day if I didn’t start it out with a nice cup of coffee.
Short talk on roller coasters
The adrenaline rush that comes from the crashing of a roller coaster can never be matched. The anticipation as one slowly gets pulled to the top of a steep hill. You’re just sitting there, waiting for the plummet, waiting for the feeling of your stomach to fly into your throat.
Short talk on Pumpkin
I have had my cat since I was in kindergarten. He is now 16 years old, and what a precious boy he really is. I would do anything for my cat. He is an orange cat with a snaggle tooth. He may be old but he has the heart of a kitten, always wanting to play and then snuggle right after. I would do ANYTHING for my cat. My parents send me pictures of him daily which makes me happy but also sad. I wish he was here right now, laying on my stomach and purring loudly. What I would give up to have him here right now.
In my philosophy lecture, we debated about free will. I wonder about free will a lot. I don’t think I’m free, because I have to unlearn everything I’ve been taught about myself, that inhibits me to be free. Do I think I’m choosing a career because I really want it, or do I have no choice? But at the same time, I’m making the choice to unlearn. I choose the sparkly color of my nails, my decision to apologize, my commitment to follow some dreams. Maybe the world is not all predetermined.
SHORT TALK ON LONG HAIR
My mom always had short hair, and implied it made her feel different from other girls. I wonder what life would be if beauty wasn’t our main aspiration. Would there be intense freedom? What would our goals be? I wonder if I should crop my hair, and give up on beauty. It would be out of my face and I wouldn’t worry about it. If I didn’t have to be what I was told to be, what would I want?
SHORT TALK ON COWBOY BOOTS
I wonder who walked in these boots before me. I picked them up from the thrift store for a real good deal— new boots run you a couple hundred dollars. I wonder if anyone in my family, who wore boots like these, was like me, secretly. I watch the movie and see the sweeping peaks and rushing waters and shame and lust and freedom and hiding and horses and ranches and cowboy boots.
SHORT TALK ON CRUSHES
The sight of them makes my heart flips and soar, twist and bend like one of those Russian Olympic gymnasts. I both adore and despise when they look at me, and I fight between curling up in a ball, shielded by my arms, and putting on the performance of a lifetime. I think about them when I brush my teeth, or drift off from reading confusing philosophical theory, or to distract me when I’m eating a particularly bad lunch. But is it really them that has all that power over me?
SHORT TALK ON SNOW
Nobody lives in a horribly snowy place because they love snow, right? It’s so inconvenient. I know of living in places because you hate snow, like my parents. But the flurries gently plop down on me, and sprinkle through the air. And the lake looks really calm and serene when it’s frozen. And when the hills and valleys are all blanketed in a white fluff, maybe I understand the appeal. But I still think you live somewhere because you have the ability to tolerate snow. Not love it.
Poetry
It seems to be something you need to constantly think about in order for it to work. Creatives have different creative eyes, I’ve found. Some are good at identifying colors that go well together, others are better with musical chords. Poets make comparisons. “A is like B.” Any unoriginal descriptions are tweaked to be beautiful and mysterious. A language that makes the reader think. Bluntness doesn’t seem to be an option. Bluntness doesn’t make readers think, it just tells things how they are. I have a lot to learn.
Turtles
They’re no Birds Of Paradise, for sure. No brightly colored distinguishing features to speak of. You can’t even see them that well. Their spot is well-protected by a large bush. But, when the sun is out and the weather is warm, there’s no mistaking it’s them. Spring rolls around, the sun’s rays bounce off their shells, and you know they have returned to the surface. To do what, who knows. Maybe there’s a biology major here who knows the answer.
Fictional Alien Races
Because they’re NOT really aliens if they just do everything WE do with virtually no differences except names and aesthetics. I came to this movie for aliens, not alien-shaped normal people.
Anticipation
I should probably get that package now. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to go anywhere tomorrow. It’s so nice out right now, you’d never guess it’s about to turn into a frozen wasteland! I wonder how many feet of snow we’ll have! I wonder how long classes will be canceled for! Maybe it’ll be a new ice age! Well, of COURSE I’m sure of it, the weather guy SAID so! Weather reports are always right!
The Disconnect
It’s hard to tell if I ever felt it, or if I still do. 2020 ruined many people’s schedules, but mine was not impacted very much. I still stayed inside, drawing, playing video games, same as always. It seems like the campus took a big hit, though. The takeout boxes, the closed lunch sections, the weekly COVID tests all became routine. Until they weren’t anymore. While I am not sure how much healing I need, I am glad to see the campus healing, at least.
I am walking to my dorm. I don’t have my headphones on, which is unusual. Because I can hear, I stop to listen. To my right: a symphony of withered leaves, waiting to take the plunge. They’re dead, but they can play really well.
Short talk on indecision.
I see myself in their place. Suspended in mid-air like a pendulum, trying to decide which direction to swing in. Wondering if I will fall. When I was at camp, I made a beaded pendulum, and decided to use every color in the rainbow. Maybe I want to be every color, but I can’t right now.
Short talk on the color brown.
The tree’s leaves were brown. So was its trunk, and the ground it grew from. We spend so much time looking at the color brown, and yet we rarely think about it. When you ask someone what their favorite color is, they probably won’t say brown. Brown was excluded from my pendulum because it’s not pretty. But brown is soil, and soil is the substrate for life, so brown is life.
Short talk on soil.
It’s in my hands, on my clothes, even in my hair. I don’t mind. I invite the messiness of it; the chaos of nature, even when we try to control it. I produce a large pile of weeds, their roots still clinging to the soil. The place from which they began.
A short talk on pianos
Love of my life, masking sparkling stims behind a flip book of twelve liberal arts degrees, barely earned, honorarily given. Yet she always speaks truth to me, in several degrees celsius. She shivers magnificently. Roads of blue hay aren’t traversed; they’re dreamt, he tells through his eighteenth-century platinum pipe, coughing at me. But, she was the one who told me they do exist, and have always existed, within the fade of the town bell’s sound. “Listen. Touch me,” she says.
A short talk on trumpets
Freddy, Harold, Max, and Theodore threw golden coins into an already perfect creek. Harold left halfway through and spent the rest on a memorial bridge. Max grew up to become dangerous. Freddy we don’t understand exactly, other than that he shouts, half-justified, at his new wife who I don’t particularly know. After that plane crashed, Theodore would pick up the pieces, meld them into a horn, and walk past the river, always shimmering.
A short talk on drums
You are not dangerous you are not dangerous you are not you listen to me. You are holy sugar on the lips of a trans woman. You are the pulse that boys understand in their blood; that’s why they want yours, but don’t give it to them. That’s your nutrient. You are a romantic. You are an array of passionate black wallflowers with vines of a pattern so intricate, you overshadow your own buds. You photosynthesize yourself. You are more than a mango. You are more than a spiked coca cola. You are the fire that first sparked femininity. You are the last act of a winter-warm drag show, doors open then close. I don’t know why the constellations fell on you, but when I asked them, they cried to me of their gratitude, Irish flutes echoing a deep longing in the distance I promised not to tell. They told me they’ve been wishing on you.
A short talk on cellos
Julia’s arms are slender as sunlight streaks on an old novel; Ruby lives across the world. Evenings are only purple when it’s misty out, but the streetlamp can remember a time. Nobody realizes how in love she is. Nobody knows her eyes are hazel, or that Daniel never deserved her, even though he came on the downbeat, and she thought she was supposed to follow. Nobody’s worried though, because as she grows older, she makes her artisan honey a deeper taste, and she’s not afraid to show off her ocean storm swirled hair.
A short talk on clarinets
Calm down. Please, you are perfect as you are, twinkling firefly sparkles into medicine. You were the child that played footsie, but didn’t kick too hard. You are the lover that uses fingertips only. James sings of his wanderings he never knows will end, and you remind him only of love songs on the after-rain of a navy blue cloud. Don’t let anyone hold you too harshly, and throw away any remaining hair ties. Why do your thoughts spoil so easily?
A short talk on accordions
I’m just excited to be speaking with you again. Has it really been eleven years? I follow everything you do in the papers, as far as that simple smile stretches, all big like the baked croissant you just brought. I never thought to combine yellow and brown paint in a living room, but because of it, I know I’m always welcome, like the rest of us forest animals. You never turn us down, do you, raspberry laugh? You’re my favorite twizzler.
A short talk on flutes
A pair of chipmunks, midwinter, startled seven blackbirds, five goldfinches, four chickadees, and one redbird. An onlooker felt the numbers correct. Two doves and one bluebird stayed put in the surgical scars of a spruce tree. They share unique remnants, despite the seedless wind.
A short talk on guitars
I don’t think anyone would insist I make an impressionist painting out of hot cocoa, unless it were to convey steam. I don’t need any right now, thank you. The clouds are fine as they are. There are just six memories to recall. Four seasons plus two repeating pulses. For all of them, we have had a best friend.
13 responses to “Short Talks—02 Tuesdays”
I often ponder on the significance of a river. Each drop of water having started far away from where it began. Circling the globe and the skies before coming to this place. I dip my toes in the ocean and bring my hands together. I lean down and let the water fall in my hands. I bring it up and wonder where it all began.
Short Talk on Cats
The cat doesn’t think much when he asks for something. To him, what he wants is something necessary. He doesn’t want or need to justify it. He only demands with his long loud meows that carry through the house. He wants food (two hours early). He wants water (his bowl is still full). He wants pets (alright since I have time). But more than anything, he wants to be heard.
Short Talk on the Color Blue
It’s naturally unnatural. It sits above us at all times at varying shades. It melds with other colors yet will always return to its glorious blue. Yet so few things are naturally blue. Flowers, blueberries, the ocean. It’s not like the color green or brown. Natural colors that somehow lack the vibrancy of the blue sky. The blue planet.
Short Talk on a Computer
I am writing this on a computer, not paper. I wonder why.
Short Talk on Whispering
Whisper for two reasons. One there is someone you do not want to awaken as they sleep peacefully. And two, you are sharing a secret. If I hear the first I think fond thoughts. When I hear the second, I want to disappear.
Short Talk on Shadows
At least something will always follow you, even in the darkness of night. They’re always next to you. I ought to remember that more.
Short Talk on Best Friends
She wasn’t my friend. That is for certain. Yet then, all I could do was listen to her and do what she said. Because she was my best friend.
Short Talk on Acquaintances
These might someday be best friends.
Short Talk on Water
Matter cannot be created or destroyed only changed. This water in my hands not only has traveled the globe but may have once not even been water. It may have come from space. It may one day return.
Short Talk on Elevators
Ding. They enter one by one. First floor, fifth floor, sixth. Wandering eyes and hesitant greetings. Twiddling fingers and odd smells. You never know who you are standing near. Coffee breathes, sunken eyes. Girl on the left finally coming in from her night out at the crack of dawn. As Bill holds in his tears from the fight last night. Tina celebrates her raise as Mark worries about the oven being left on.
Short Talk on Group Chats
Guess who. Guess what. Guess how. LMAAOO, LOL! Where good people go to hell.
Short Talk on Hair Salons
My stylist is so scissor-happy you can never grow an inch without her chopping them off because my split ends touch the scalp. Health over length, well who cares! Happiness over all. Glaring through the mirror imagining they snap right off her perfectly gel-manicured nails. Echoing snips and chatter, sucking the tears in as memories of her daily affirmations disappear. Ashley hands me a coke, her pomade greased fingers printed on the can. Distance from ends to ear shortens.
Short Talk on Pens
This pen doesn’t write much, but raises volumes for the unspoken. This pen feels the pressure and swift movements, the sweat and fear. Will it be understood, ink from the soul spilled and enraged on the page. Mirrored bodies, but one vulnerable enough to release itself onto one. Cartridge emptied with satisfaction, picking at the waxy stopper of the nib.
Short Talk on Tools
Inanimate but adamant. Bob never lacked trust in his tools, always in the back handy and dandy. Job relies on them, income relies on them, and social life relies on them. Not a rare occurrence for neighbors to find him conversing and fussing around with the tools. Never a true worry because of Bob’s impeccable craft. He paints, he builds. The man might be odd, but the appreciation of Bob and his tools has been the town secret that never goes questioned. Just Bob and his tools.
Short talk on trees:
Oregon is greener than here. Yes, it may be gray 70% of the year but at least it is beautiful and alive not dead and barren during the winter. Here, during the most beautiful falls I have ever seen, all the leaves fall off the trees, making them color the landscape with brown and gray. The greener is taken from the world here and there seems to be little color left. Yes, there are more sunny days, but you have to look up high in the sky to find its radiance. Sometimes, there beaty of snow transforms the gray wastelands into something beautiful but then the snow melts leveling the brown and gray, just with more salt now. In Oregon, fewer trees die each fall. Most of the trees are fern and pine dress that stay green throughout the winter. The rain continues to come down as winter passes but the life of nature is still alive. With each new rain, you can smell the plants and trees rejoicing from their encounters with water. The nature surrounding you feels comforting in a way the nothingness of the New England winter does not.
Short talks about calling family members
Every week or so I get a text from my mom asking me how I am doing. This is my sign that I need to call my parents again. Most of the time, I have already decided that I should call them, I just haven’t yet. But I find some time and spend twenty to forty minutes updating my parents on my life and asking for updates on theirs. This cycle then repeats over and over. My twin sister is similar but calls more regularly. My older sister and I talk the least. We both are busy and do not find it necessary to talk that much. I love my family members and feel really guilty that I do not call them as much as I should. But I find that I have spent all my energy being here and present in my moments in college that I feel tired and in no mood to talk at the end of the day when I finally have time to call. Sometimes I just do not have much to say. I think my parents understand but I worry. I feel like I’m losing a battle that I did not know I was facing. I also should call my grandparents, and see how they are doing. Call my friend who never answers his text. But I never really call anyone as much as I should
Short talks about the future
Where should I live? Nowhere sounds good yet everywhere sounds like an adventure. I want to be happy where I live. That is my real goal. But how will I know that I will be happy? What if I waste an amazing choice to be happy by going to the wrong place? Right now I have endless options but they will not be endless for long. Yes, I could move later if I wanted to but money does not grow on trees and life somehow settles wherever you are. Being an adult seems like it sucks a lot but having good people around seems to make it better. Do I still close with the people I know now or try to move somewhere where making friends will be easy? But what about my family? I knew I never was going to move back to Oregon. But recently that has broken my heart a little. I will never spend long periods with my parents anymore. No summer breaks or extended winter holidays. Now the grind of American work culture that only gives 2 weeks of vacation time a year. Two weeks. — Now I can see why all of my parent’s vacation time when I was growing up was spent seeing family. I never went to many true vocations as a kid. We spent two weeks in the summer and two weeks in the winter in California visiting family instead of going to Hawaii or Colorado like all of the kids in my class did. But that is the price you pay for leaving thousands of miles away from family. But I want to travel and live in other countries and live an amazing life – yet still be able to visit my family. Maybe I should live in California for a little while. Be close for a few years to ward off my guilt of never being as close as I should be. Maybe Canada will be as far as I ever move. My choices are endless yet forever limited by my own morality and monetary responsibility.
Short talks on friendships
I will buy the raccoon you are selling at the fundraiser. I know you are sad to give him up. I will put him in our room where you can see him.
Short talks on friendships pt 2.
I asked you all what I should write my next short talk about. I am retroactively not taking suggestions.
Short talks on winning
No, they don’t like to play that boardgame with me anymore. Yeah, that one too. To be fair I didn’t mean to make anyone cry during it. I just think that if you’re gonna be that far off while guessing you should be a little bit ashamed. Oh yeah Bannagrams too now. I won four straight games last week. It ended badly.
Short talks on connecting
You told me to ride in the car with mom. She misses me more when I’m in college so I should chat with her while I can. We laughed at you when you called me 5 times in that hour and a half, everytime you had an idea for the play we were working on together. You waved at us when our cars passed each other.
Short talks on homework
It’s so hard to type when you’re singing “pussy pussy pussy marijuana” in the background. I ask you to stop. “You can’t stop this”. The singing continues.
Short talks on dreams
Of fight, flight, and freeze, I’m glad I wake up frozen. I have so many nightmares and you’re a light sleeper. The dream was pretty ridiculous now that I think about it. I turn back over knowing we’ll overanalyze it tomorrow.
Short Talk on The Easter Bunny:
My mother told me that I never saw the Easter Bunny because he was always right behind me, hidden from my searching eyes. In hindsight this seems creepy, but at the time it made total sense. I spent that Easter walking with my eyes straight ahead pretending to be oblivious of this newly discovered information. Every couple of minutes I would spin around desperate to catch a glimpse.
Short Talk on Gum:
Why is gum so forbidden? God forbid you got caught with gum in your mouth at school; trying to hide it by smooshing it to the roof of your mount when your teacher insists you open wide. When I was in fourth grade my teacher let us have “gum day” every Friday. It felt so cool to be able to do something so rebellious. To know that we were different from other kids, and that Mr. Meyers trusted we would be good and not stick it under our desks. We were mature like that.
Short Talk on My Dad:
I heard about some girl at UMass that was inviting old guys over to her dorm. Do people think that when my dad comes to visit?
Short Talk on Beauty:
“I wish I could appreciate ones beauty without questioning my own”
Sometimes people say insightful things in the comment sections of tik tok.
Short Talk on Long Distance
My mother and I do better separate. Something about being under the same roof leaves room only for tension and arguments. When we are apart we spend hours on the phone. We laugh, talk about work, discuss economics, gossip. I don’t know how I’m going to survive another summer.
Short Talk on Productivity:
The feeling of reward is so strong when I finish my work efficiently, well, and ahead of time. And the feeling of guilt is so dreadful when it’s the night before and I have three assignments that have been living in the back of my brain beginning thursday, following to friday, getting progressively worse through saturday, and finally becoming unignorable by sunday night. And yet this pattern has followed me relentlessly and will continue; my not so subtle stalker.
Short Talk on Phones
It bugs me that old people find such humor in questioning their younger counterparts on whether they know what a rotary phone is, or why movies are sometimes called films. It’s honestly just insulting. We’re not dumb and oblivious, our attention only being held by the screens of our phones which no, do not require the memorization of phone numbers. I know we have it easy.
Short talk on pregames
It’s common courtesy to show up 5 minutes late to a pregame (when I know someone better than you who is already there), and it is absolutely horrific to show up 30 minutes early when I am still in my pajamas printing out Jacob Elordi’s elbow. “Crazy pregame vibe guys,” yeah, no kidding. Please leave and come back in 35 minutes.
Short talk on anger
I am the passive-aggressive type and so are you even though you might disagree with me. You handle your anger worse than me, you wear it on your sleeve and I don’t think it’s fair because sometimes I swear I don’t deserve it, but I apologize! Pent-up anger…I know I make you mad and you make me mad. It sits uncomfortable in my chest, like a slimy warm ball of mud full of grass and bugs. It seeps into my fingers and pollutes my eyes and tone of voice and I can’t remember how I act when I am not coughing up mud. It’ll pass, but it’s gross.
Short talk on food
Some days ago I went to a fancy restaurant on a school’s dime, thus, I ordered an expensive shrimp scampi and Shirly temple. As I bit into that juicy shrimp I began to think about the good food I’ve eaten in my life. I mean good food that makes you stop and appreciate the art of food. And honestly, I realized I don’t eat good food all that often. Maybe I’m too cheap. I told my dad this realization and he understood exactly what I meant. None of my friends quite got it. Maybe all that good food stuff comes with age.
Short talk on hair
It just grazes the middle of her back and when she leans her head all the way back it touches her butt. Long in the way that little girls’ hair is because they are so tiny. It’s the type of dirty blond that will one day turn brown. Real brown. Her hair is soft like it’s a pair of worn blue jeans. No split ends or breakage it just keeps growing. Her mom trims the ends for her, saying it will keep it healthy, and she thinks hair grows from the bottom down. She tells me that she wants to grow it as long as Rapunzel and put a single blue streak in her hair just like her best friend has. I feign surprise and wonder at her outlandish goal, I don’t think she knows it is impossible for hair to get that long and thick, but what do I know anyway? Maybe she’ll be the first to make it there. I wish her the best and I braid her hair.
Short talk about crushes
Passing through like the breeze on a sweltering summer day. Surprising, a relief, it makes my hair dance, it is cool on my bare legs, I breathe it in and sigh. It is gone in an instant and I am left mourning it, wondering why things come and go like that. I am back to being sweltering hot, but if the breeze were to stay forever surely I would get cold, uncomfortably cold. I am fine being hot and enjoying a popsicle, I am fine that the breeze does not last, but one day I hope it does.
Short Talk on Thinking
I’ve been told I think too much. What’s too much? It seems awfully arbitrary. Why bother to say that at all if you can’t hear my thoughts? Why bother to stop thinking when it’s what got me here?
Short Talk on Immortality vs. Immorality
I said that I loved “Because I could not stop for Death” but I didn’t know the words. I’d read it once and it had spoken to me, but I confused immortality with immorality. Maybe that says something about me or what I had grown up surrounded by. Maybe all it says is that my memory is bad. Whatever the reason, I was wrong. Can you love something you don’t remember? Can you love something that you don’t know? Was that a lie or did I love something for what it wasn’t? I love it now for what it is — if that means anything.
Short Talk on Track
I don’t really like to run. I mean, I like to sprint. Well, I like to sprint well. Sprinting poorly apparently feels terrible. I learned that this year. Taking a year off isn’t accepted in sports. I didn’t have a choice about it — my back too far gone to allow me to feel the wind against my face in that light as air way — but a lack of choice doesn’t make it ok. I wish I felt what I did then. It’s hard to be captain when the talent isn’t quite there to back up the thoughts. Advice feels meaningless when I can’t take it myself. But I stick around because I love to sprint, and I have dreams where I feel the sun and energy again. I talk like it’s fine but it’s really not and all I can do is talk like the dreams are real, talk like they will be real, but I don’t know if they ever will be.
Short Talk on Pride and Prejudice
It’s my favorite book. It genuinely is my favorite. It’s one of only a handful of books — literally a list so short I can count it on my hand — that I’ve read multiple times. I hated it when I read it at first. It was tedious and long and I was on a time crunch. It’s one of my mother’s favorite books. I said it was mine too and then it stopped being a lie. How often can we delude ourselves into something? Can we really change who we are by sheer determination alone?
Short Talk on Creative Writing
I like this more than I thought I could. International Relations and French seem like odd degrees if I want to be a writer.
Short Talk on Hozier
I’m not smart enough to write lyrics like that but I can accept that. It’s a bit more literary than I am. It’s historical in a different way. Mythological and bright as opposed to war, pain, and sadness. I’m not very earthy either. I never really wanted to play outside. Maybe it’ll help keep my skin ok. I heard redheads were always supposed to get skin cancer when I was younger. From experience, that’s not the worst that could happen though.
Short Talk on “I”
Every sentence wants to start with “I.” Is it a reflection of individualistic ideas? Am I centering myself? Do you see me as self-obsessed? Are we no longer friends because of any reason or just because the distance got long, and time got far? You must think I was insufferable back then. I think I was in hindsight. Even now I keep saying “I.” Is that bad?
Short Talk on Non-fiction vs. Fiction vs. Poetry
I want to write novels, decidedly fiction novels. Fantasy to be specific. But I think that’s where I’m worst. I worry about not improving that area. I’m not sure I’m fantastic at poetry, I only sometimes get it, but writing my thoughts on paper is something I am well accustomed to. Non-fiction is simpler, a daily life activity only slightly dialed up. Poetry is to be determined. Fiction feels like trying to strip a decade of writer’s block off in one sitting.
Short Talk on Bikes
We used to ride from your house to that crab apple tree down the winding hill. We used to ride from your house to Target, weaving between wildflowers and meadows of tall grass. We used to ride to that tunnel under the road covered in graffiti. We used to ride to my house to swim in the pool across the street. We used to ride to that small pond hidden behind weeping willows and pretend that we were hidden entirely from the outside world — peacefully in a place where no one could find us, and life was more adventure than real. We used to ride loops around the neighborhood, fast at the corner and slow down the hill. We used to ride together in summer but never in winter. We used to ride bikes that belonged to us, to siblings, to friends, and we used to ride them for hours without thinking of anything to come.
Short talk on the apocalypse
I recently learned that apocalypse refers to a literary genre of revelations of the future. We usually think of it as meaning the end of the world, which is also true. The end of the world has happened many times before me, so I am not as special as I think I am. I learned that in one instance of the end of the world, came a mushroom. The end of the world came today, for me, on a Monday. Apocalypse, once again, over and over again. From my apocalypse, came some french fries.
Short talks on snow
Snow is a mystery to me. Snow used to be the white fluff that fell to the ground from the tree in from of my old apartment during spring. It got into my dogs’ paws and in the crevices of car tires and shoes and got dragged into the apartment. I called it snow because I’d never seen snow before. It was white like snow and got everywhere like snow, but it wasn’t cold, crunchy, or wet like snow. It was a mysterious white fluff that came every spring. That tree only existed there, so I never saw it again. I remember it like a dream.
Short talks on sewing machines
My back aches and cracks and curves as I sit for hours. Measure, fold, pin, iron, sew. Repeat. I fear of sewing over my finger because it happened once on Project Runway. My lines are crooked even though I do everything in my power to make them straight. I fear not sewing perfectly. But, sometimes it’s okay for things to be crooked you can barely see them anyway. So I sit with my foot on the pedal like I’m driving a car and I continue.
A short talk on driving permits
Sometimes it takes a girl like me three permits to get her driver’s license. Sometimes to acquire the third one, a girl like me has to take the test three times in one day because I keep failing it. Then the DMV security guard befriends me since I have been in there for hours rotting away and he tells me that I should just get a boyfriend with a driver’s license and a car. It would be harder for me to get a boyfriend nonetheless, so I stayed in the DMV and finally passed the permit test for the third time.
Short talk on Sleep Walking
I think sleepwalking is creepy, just in general. One year in college my sister came and visited me. One night, she just sat up in bed, stood up, walked over to the middle of the room and stood there until my roommate told her she was okay and to go back to bed. She did so. The next night at the exact same time, I sat up in bed, stood up, walked over to the middle of the room and stood there until my roommate told me it was okay and to go back to bed. I can’t remember a time I woke up so creeped out.
Short talk on Reading
I love reading, but not on computers. I get distracted. No, instead I love reading hard copies. I love reading books, even if they are classics. I just want paper in my hand.
Short talk on Libby (roommate)
Libby and I have a wonderful relationship. When I took a break from writing and reading, we sat here for an hour watching Tik Toks and sending them back and forth to each other. Each video she sent me I got a cackle out of. It’s the little things in life that make me appreciate it.
Short talk on lacrosse
It’s freezing outside. I don’t think we have had a warm practice yet. A lot of people complain about practicing in the cold and outside, and sometimes I do too, but most of the time I LOVE the cold. The cold calls out to me, it reminds me of home. The brisk air beating across my beet red cheeks. The steam coming off of your sweaty body and drifting into the cold of night. The specific burning of your throat as you run around in the cold. The feeling of relief when you step inside back into warmth after a cold practice. The unthawing of your fingertips from your lacrosse stick. Sometimes my hands get stuck in claw-like grips. I love it. All of it. It feels rewarding.
Short talk on coffee
I don’t know what I would do in my day if I didn’t start it out with a nice cup of coffee.
Short talk on roller coasters
The adrenaline rush that comes from the crashing of a roller coaster can never be matched. The anticipation as one slowly gets pulled to the top of a steep hill. You’re just sitting there, waiting for the plummet, waiting for the feeling of your stomach to fly into your throat.
Short talk on Pumpkin
I have had my cat since I was in kindergarten. He is now 16 years old, and what a precious boy he really is. I would do anything for my cat. He is an orange cat with a snaggle tooth. He may be old but he has the heart of a kitten, always wanting to play and then snuggle right after. I would do ANYTHING for my cat. My parents send me pictures of him daily which makes me happy but also sad. I wish he was here right now, laying on my stomach and purring loudly. What I would give up to have him here right now.
SHORT TALK ON FREE WILL
In my philosophy lecture, we debated about free will. I wonder about free will a lot. I don’t think I’m free, because I have to unlearn everything I’ve been taught about myself, that inhibits me to be free. Do I think I’m choosing a career because I really want it, or do I have no choice? But at the same time, I’m making the choice to unlearn. I choose the sparkly color of my nails, my decision to apologize, my commitment to follow some dreams. Maybe the world is not all predetermined.
SHORT TALK ON LONG HAIR
My mom always had short hair, and implied it made her feel different from other girls. I wonder what life would be if beauty wasn’t our main aspiration. Would there be intense freedom? What would our goals be? I wonder if I should crop my hair, and give up on beauty. It would be out of my face and I wouldn’t worry about it. If I didn’t have to be what I was told to be, what would I want?
SHORT TALK ON COWBOY BOOTS
I wonder who walked in these boots before me. I picked them up from the thrift store for a real good deal— new boots run you a couple hundred dollars. I wonder if anyone in my family, who wore boots like these, was like me, secretly. I watch the movie and see the sweeping peaks and rushing waters and shame and lust and freedom and hiding and horses and ranches and cowboy boots.
SHORT TALK ON CRUSHES
The sight of them makes my heart flips and soar, twist and bend like one of those Russian Olympic gymnasts. I both adore and despise when they look at me, and I fight between curling up in a ball, shielded by my arms, and putting on the performance of a lifetime. I think about them when I brush my teeth, or drift off from reading confusing philosophical theory, or to distract me when I’m eating a particularly bad lunch. But is it really them that has all that power over me?
SHORT TALK ON SNOW
Nobody lives in a horribly snowy place because they love snow, right? It’s so inconvenient. I know of living in places because you hate snow, like my parents. But the flurries gently plop down on me, and sprinkle through the air. And the lake looks really calm and serene when it’s frozen. And when the hills and valleys are all blanketed in a white fluff, maybe I understand the appeal. But I still think you live somewhere because you have the ability to tolerate snow. Not love it.
Poetry
It seems to be something you need to constantly think about in order for it to work. Creatives have different creative eyes, I’ve found. Some are good at identifying colors that go well together, others are better with musical chords. Poets make comparisons. “A is like B.” Any unoriginal descriptions are tweaked to be beautiful and mysterious. A language that makes the reader think. Bluntness doesn’t seem to be an option. Bluntness doesn’t make readers think, it just tells things how they are. I have a lot to learn.
Turtles
They’re no Birds Of Paradise, for sure. No brightly colored distinguishing features to speak of. You can’t even see them that well. Their spot is well-protected by a large bush. But, when the sun is out and the weather is warm, there’s no mistaking it’s them. Spring rolls around, the sun’s rays bounce off their shells, and you know they have returned to the surface. To do what, who knows. Maybe there’s a biology major here who knows the answer.
Fictional Alien Races
Because they’re NOT really aliens if they just do everything WE do with virtually no differences except names and aesthetics. I came to this movie for aliens, not alien-shaped normal people.
Anticipation
I should probably get that package now. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to go anywhere tomorrow. It’s so nice out right now, you’d never guess it’s about to turn into a frozen wasteland! I wonder how many feet of snow we’ll have! I wonder how long classes will be canceled for! Maybe it’ll be a new ice age! Well, of COURSE I’m sure of it, the weather guy SAID so! Weather reports are always right!
The Disconnect
It’s hard to tell if I ever felt it, or if I still do. 2020 ruined many people’s schedules, but mine was not impacted very much. I still stayed inside, drawing, playing video games, same as always. It seems like the campus took a big hit, though. The takeout boxes, the closed lunch sections, the weekly COVID tests all became routine. Until they weren’t anymore. While I am not sure how much healing I need, I am glad to see the campus healing, at least.
Short talk on leaves.
I am walking to my dorm. I don’t have my headphones on, which is unusual. Because I can hear, I stop to listen. To my right: a symphony of withered leaves, waiting to take the plunge. They’re dead, but they can play really well.
Short talk on indecision.
I see myself in their place. Suspended in mid-air like a pendulum, trying to decide which direction to swing in. Wondering if I will fall. When I was at camp, I made a beaded pendulum, and decided to use every color in the rainbow. Maybe I want to be every color, but I can’t right now.
Short talk on the color brown.
The tree’s leaves were brown. So was its trunk, and the ground it grew from. We spend so much time looking at the color brown, and yet we rarely think about it. When you ask someone what their favorite color is, they probably won’t say brown. Brown was excluded from my pendulum because it’s not pretty. But brown is soil, and soil is the substrate for life, so brown is life.
Short talk on soil.
It’s in my hands, on my clothes, even in my hair. I don’t mind. I invite the messiness of it; the chaos of nature, even when we try to control it. I produce a large pile of weeds, their roots still clinging to the soil. The place from which they began.
Short talks on various instruments
A short talk on pianos
Love of my life, masking sparkling stims behind a flip book of twelve liberal arts degrees, barely earned, honorarily given. Yet she always speaks truth to me, in several degrees celsius. She shivers magnificently. Roads of blue hay aren’t traversed; they’re dreamt, he tells through his eighteenth-century platinum pipe, coughing at me. But, she was the one who told me they do exist, and have always existed, within the fade of the town bell’s sound. “Listen. Touch me,” she says.
A short talk on trumpets
Freddy, Harold, Max, and Theodore threw golden coins into an already perfect creek. Harold left halfway through and spent the rest on a memorial bridge. Max grew up to become dangerous. Freddy we don’t understand exactly, other than that he shouts, half-justified, at his new wife who I don’t particularly know. After that plane crashed, Theodore would pick up the pieces, meld them into a horn, and walk past the river, always shimmering.
A short talk on drums
You are not dangerous you are not dangerous you are not you listen to me. You are holy sugar on the lips of a trans woman. You are the pulse that boys understand in their blood; that’s why they want yours, but don’t give it to them. That’s your nutrient. You are a romantic. You are an array of passionate black wallflowers with vines of a pattern so intricate, you overshadow your own buds. You photosynthesize yourself. You are more than a mango. You are more than a spiked coca cola. You are the fire that first sparked femininity. You are the last act of a winter-warm drag show, doors open then close. I don’t know why the constellations fell on you, but when I asked them, they cried to me of their gratitude, Irish flutes echoing a deep longing in the distance I promised not to tell. They told me they’ve been wishing on you.
A short talk on cellos
Julia’s arms are slender as sunlight streaks on an old novel; Ruby lives across the world. Evenings are only purple when it’s misty out, but the streetlamp can remember a time. Nobody realizes how in love she is. Nobody knows her eyes are hazel, or that Daniel never deserved her, even though he came on the downbeat, and she thought she was supposed to follow. Nobody’s worried though, because as she grows older, she makes her artisan honey a deeper taste, and she’s not afraid to show off her ocean storm swirled hair.
A short talk on clarinets
Calm down. Please, you are perfect as you are, twinkling firefly sparkles into medicine. You were the child that played footsie, but didn’t kick too hard. You are the lover that uses fingertips only. James sings of his wanderings he never knows will end, and you remind him only of love songs on the after-rain of a navy blue cloud. Don’t let anyone hold you too harshly, and throw away any remaining hair ties. Why do your thoughts spoil so easily?
A short talk on accordions
I’m just excited to be speaking with you again. Has it really been eleven years? I follow everything you do in the papers, as far as that simple smile stretches, all big like the baked croissant you just brought. I never thought to combine yellow and brown paint in a living room, but because of it, I know I’m always welcome, like the rest of us forest animals. You never turn us down, do you, raspberry laugh? You’re my favorite twizzler.
A short talk on flutes
A pair of chipmunks, midwinter, startled seven blackbirds, five goldfinches, four chickadees, and one redbird. An onlooker felt the numbers correct. Two doves and one bluebird stayed put in the surgical scars of a spruce tree. They share unique remnants, despite the seedless wind.
A short talk on guitars
I don’t think anyone would insist I make an impressionist painting out of hot cocoa, unless it were to convey steam. I don’t need any right now, thank you. The clouds are fine as they are. There are just six memories to recall. Four seasons plus two repeating pulses. For all of them, we have had a best friend.