I Burned Those Journals

When I first moved to this city

I made friends with a junky-

we were both lonely.

Sitting on the steps with nothing

to do to pass the time,

but talk of the central library.

Looking up books

on how to make flutes.

I helped him score drugs,

by being the one who turned in

stolen jewelery to Nordstroms.

I watched him check out at

the water front-

he bought me pizza,

sang me a song

at open mic.

I was friends with meth addicts.

Lost friends in car accidents.

Lost my virginity in a haunted house

on an Indian Reservation.

And a few weeks ago,

I burned those journals.

I watched smoke erase memories,

in seconds.

Poems I thought I would put somewhere,

someday.

Short Story, written spring 2009 on my way home from Oakland

The water reaches my back cold at first, shockingly until my body gets used to the sensation. Haven’t fallen asleep completely sober in seven days. She is still asleep in the other room with her arm over her head and the sun creeping in through the window. It is a bright morning and really beautiful out there. Where I am from it is really rainy and cold- I feel as though I am on lock down back home, but not here. I turned out from the shower. This corner of the house is separate from the bigger living room, hard-wooded. I know she doesn’t hear me.

I want to kiss her and feel her and I am not sure that she wants me to. Talks that we have had over coffee, fruit or nuts in the dining room competing for who can make the other laugh longer, louder. On the pavement our walks become something of a floating venture, amazed at how plants have arranged themselves, as if they had done it so deliberately. During our drives down the interstate, everything is an event of self-discovery and disillusionment, or coming into reality, or coming into our reality together.

I rest and try not to watch her as she continues to sleep silently on that couch. With her permission perhaps she’ll let me take pictures of us way up high- overlooking the city as the sun passes over the bay and we think nothing of the past or future. Thinking only of how our voices should get louder as we have known each other for longer now.

A note to my addictions:

I do not want to be enslaved.

I want to be empowered.

I do not want to be enslaved.

I want to be empowered.

I will take the shackles off my wrists.

And I will separate you from me.

Things To Do In Portland Before I Leave (for good?)

Am I missing anything?

Drink PBR on a porch. Go to a Blazers game. Watch the sunset from Mt. Tabor. Read fiction at Powells. Buy a zine from Reading Frenzy. Walk to The Roxy, eat something that is bad for me. Go to soul night at Rotture. Hang out at Burnside Skatepark. Ride a bike around the espionage. Browse Andy and Bax. Go to a house show. Drink coffee at Stumptown. Pick mushrooms in the forest. Sit in the Public Library. Drive to the coast. Take the max to Pioneer Courthouse Square. End up at Mary's Club or Union Jacks. 20 oz. at Billy Ray's, play pinball. Tie up loose ends. Rollerskate at Oaks Park. Rummage through free bins and dumpsters. Hang out with all of my besties. Make dinner from food bought at the co-op.