March 2022
Hi friends! I went to Portland, Oregon (the city I grew up in) over spring break and wrote a lot while I was there. I’m now very intolerant to the cold/rain though, so I wrote primarily on my Notes app which felt like I was texting myself. After being away for two years, it was both incredibly amazing and jarring to connect with my Portland community as the last time we saw each other was before the COVID-19 pandemic! Pictured below is the temple my family frequented when I was small.
twenty months If we could turn around And go back to where we came from We would make our memories strangers The city itself a stranger home Than the places we escape from What if all this change is illusory What if home will never exist again The way a person you knew your entire life Is a stranger in the living room somewhere And here I now am so tall I look down On statues of gods I once wished I could believe in And ask shall I return, may I hold my head down Strangers fill my bedroom, the kitchen What if when we change Everything will look the same And so we convince ourselves crazy For it all being strange
There is always water in Portland If rain comes down, let it be slow And linger, wander the pavement Thin enough to not splash Strong enough to soak through And when it pours, let it be for a moment Just to picture what it’s like To embrace the dark like a conviction Back to the unsettled Squishy step onto wet grass Look up and watch The clouds remain in the sky Despite all attempts To pull them down
a turn for someone new
There was a swing set at Findley
That would squeal at my attempts to fly
And now with new equipment
Only kind silence
When young we close our eyes
And imagine all the places we’ll go
When pushing so far above ground
So I stop sitting still at the old playground
There are little ones dreaming hard all around
And I, finally, am gone
longevity of friendship He shook his hand out Ran it through his hair Like at 11, at 15, at 19 I stare longer than I meant But he doesn’t notice He tells me about the others Tracing familiar lines Unearthing past lives to hold us up “Besides those few, I lost touch with most” We wait a moment To align with words belonging to 17 In the space we hold for current days But with jagged angles, they cannot fit Awkwardly I fidget Stuck on what to say And then he shifts Smiles different Relaxed and enigmatic Brown strands falling over his eyes So I smile back Like at 11, 15, 19 “What’s new?”
disconnect When light shines through windows sealed shut The warmth will be special, given to those on the other side Feelings of familiarity wear layers Traveling to small crevices used for hiding And the light wanes with effort to pierce through Home was a struggle or a delusion To fit in all the odd places naked Exposed laid flush hard belly and constant appetite All the treasure lost in cardboard boxes Moving constantly and dancing underneath A world in gray played out on windowpane Like a television screen Look closely to find the layers A new building on top of the old Repainted roads and filled holes And in the rekindled loneliness of proximity The rain patters quietly Just on the other side
life within five miles A town dated by unmapped memories The city runs time away every morning Like a father the city ages in penitence Snapping its neck for the branches to grow Remaining here in spite of youthful desires We are all running out of time
sunday returns
spring has arrived like a bedside glass of water at 3am. without realizing I was in a drought until I tilted the cup between my lips. someday there may be placeholders where I once stood but more importantly, I will have left impressions where I laid down. whose palms have I touched? I think about his arm behind my chair and her hand brushing my upper arm. touches linger everywhere. is it strange how nervous and special they make me feel? as if I am here, now, with those grasping for me here, now, which obviously is a nervous and special feeling. how long have I felt not here, watching you from afar, holding your hand? how a hummingbird resting in my company became unimpressive. time passed in apathy but now pain embraces me like the friendly rains in Portland, Oregon. you are here, it will shower while I lay in the sun, how amazing is it to be alive?