Tuesday, December 23, 2008

There is a Hole in Internet Explorer Today

This is something I wrote last week at work, inspired by an email my boss sent around about the "IE7 security hole." This also came from the sudden death of my cat, who had fully recovered from his paralysis yet passed quickly and in that sense gracefully at home. (Note: I have replaced the original poem that was below with the revision as of July '10.)

There is a Hole in Internet Explorer Today

and you can’t see outer space through it,
the dark energy and dark matter that fight
inside our lives. I walk past the teardrop-shaped
colored lights on North Tioga Street             

in front of a dentist’s office, identical
to the ones my grandfather used to drape
over the snowy azalea bushes out front
that flamed pink and purple every summer

of childhood. He has been gone
15 years, which is a long time in cat
years, and I find myself in the middle
of something I can’t explain, about how love

loses itself though it never means to.
The acupuncturist yesterday stuck needles in
my elbows, and I wondered when I’d stop
being a pincushion—apparently not

yet—and I tried not to cry into
the face cradle, because I’ve never even made
successful graffiti,
like the stuff in the stalls at the DeWitt Mall

(someone announcing her marriage
in marker, someone else writing classy).
So when grapefruit-sized hail falls,
when you remember the Stations of the Cross

painted on the walls inside your childhood
church, when you cry to Our Lady
of Catheters, of Credit Card Debt,
I think you should stop for a minute

and admire something.


Friday, December 5, 2008

I'm the kind of girl who

Walks into a wall and gives herself a black eye
Shows up to work at 1 pm or later
Once made the mistake of trying to cook and eat actual beets
Spends her days talking on the phone RE antacids, prescriptions, cat heart ultrasounds
Hates how driving everywhere takes 10 minutes
Hates Thanksgiving and Christmas and does not want to be asked, How was your holiday?
Wakes up in the middle of the night composing letters to people who made her mad the day before
Gets migraines on the 4th of every month
Wants more than anything to spend a day, or more than an hour, alone
Can't stand it when people romanticize shit
Is hemorrhaging money
Likes animals better than people in most cases
After years of not wanting to spend all day writing a poem, wants to spend all day writing a poem
Thinks writing poetry is the hardest and most worthwhile thing on earth, and wants to branch out so that not all of the poems are just about herself
Cannot make small talk
Doesn't have a tattoo
Has Mary of Guadalupe shrine in apartment
Is paralyzed and flummoxed by ordinary activities such as going to a carwash, which can take years to work up to unless boyfriend does it for her
Isn't good at gift-giving
Hates when an email begins, "Ladies..."
Will never do situps to tighten post-baby tummy (maybe boyfriend will do them for her)
Has long psychological conversations with her boss sometimes leading to spontaneous, healing tears
Never wants to travel anywhere again
Is an unskilled laborer
Does not have compartmentalized brain; instead, everything is all bleeding into each other in there, with the ex-husband in the acupuncture compartment, the lizards of Las Cruces, NM bouncing around with the taste of an excellent pinot noir, etc.
Loves to say etc. and use ellipses and dashes
Is full of hatred, anger, profanity that is randomly discharged at slow motorists, loved ones
Thinks her cat's face is the furry orange face of God
Misses her grandparents every day and can't wait to dedicate her first book to them (optimistic)
Buys shoes every 4 years and can't pick them out by herself; the idea of desiring to have a huge shoe closet is baffling
Comes from engineers and shoemakers
Loves cheese
Went to a Catholic junior high where lunch was eaten and social alliances forged in the rectory basement
Had a friend named Pinky who broke her heart
Has never been in style
Feels strangely satisfied having given herself a black eye and watching it turn purple pink black yellow
Believes there are no coincidences
Usually doesn't have time to shower
Has a sexual imagination shaped by Catholic school
Has left 2 Buddha statues on her desk at work that were put there at least 3 years ago by the person in the job before her
Is a late bloomer
Is horribly nostalgic for her early 20s in the late 90s, when everyone wore plaid shirts RE Nirvana, and she wore a flowered skirt and combat-like boots to work, and the world felt more beautiful, tragic, innocent and hopeful
Hates how life tends to flatten people out so that they become less interesting
Remembers phrases planted in her head by grade school social studies teachers, music teachers, textbooks, commercials
Does not remember last weekend