Firework

 Stacie Cassarino

 

The day my body caught fire

the woodland darkened. The horizon

was a sea of maids, rushing to piece me

back into a girl. Out of the girl came yellow

flowers, came stem & sepal.

You never happened, they said.

The meadow was a narration of lessness.

Inside the corral, horses fell

from the impact of lightning. They broke

down. I heard gunshots in my sleep.

I was a keeper of breath,

of hay. I walked a field, collecting bones.

You can build a house out of bones.

You can stand at the doorway

quarrelling with your legs to enter

or run until you turn to ash.

The Rain

Robert Creeley

 

All night the sound had

come back again,

and again falls

this quiet, persistent rain.

 

What am I to myself

that must be remembered,

insisted upon

so often? Is it

 

that never the ease,

even the hardness,

of rain falling

will have for me

 

something other than this,

something not so insistent—

am I to be locked in this

final uneasiness.

 

Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.

Be for me, like rain,

the getting out

 

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-

lust of intentional indifference.

Be wet

with a decent happiness.

i suck at frisbee golf and other noncalamities

also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOLLY. and today was a wonderful day.

finds. finds. finds.

this spring break consisted of: a) loafing b) running c) drinking coffee, lots of d) thrifting e) etc. etc.

i traveled down to everett to clean out the area's thrifting scene with my aunt, a professional. day one we went to all thrift stores in everett and marysville, then ate mexican food and watched "american pickers." day two we awoke early to be the first to arrive at several garage and estate sales (including one of a disney fanatic, which was weird), ate a turkey sandwich, and then revisited the same thrift stores again. it was nice, and successful. i am in the process of updating my etsy, but here are some of my favorite finds:

so cute is all.

celluloid plastic deer (!)

i've been looking for one of these. sixties luggage, made in japan.

such a great piece of crewelwork! i want to live in that house.

fun brooches from the sixties.

what i heard, what i did

there was suddenly a baby next door. the only reason i knew this was because i heard it crying when i was leaving or coming. this is evidence that something i cannot see or feel can exist yet.

i read w.b. yeat's poem "the lake isle of innisfree" at my grandfather's memorial. i apologized for crying and the tall bagpiper with the bleached blond hair played amazing grace so steadily i thought i would faint.

i began running again, picking up where i left off some time ago. i ran down to the bay everyday. i saw that the flowering red currant and indian plum were in bloom. in the soupy gray of the bay i saw surf scoters and barrow's goldeneyes, a merganser and a western grebe.

i wondered why i couldn't hear the baby crying through the shared wall of our apartment. i wondered if it was really there.

i picked myself up. i cleaned the apartment and swept the floors. i put on a pretty blouse and called my friends over. we played twister in the dining room. amid all the laughter, i only thought of the baby once (but if i cannot hear it, it cannot hear me).

sometimes, when i ran for a long time, my feet fell asleep, but i was able to keep going. i am always able to keep going.