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September 29, 2004
Something Smells Good
I baked something delicious that I couldn't share with you
Even though I wanted to
And I knew you'd want it too
But I left it on the window where I knew that you would see
And could come and steal from me
Just what I would give for free
Posted by kati at 11:32 PM
September 27, 2004
Rocks by the campfire
The foreigner is surrounded by curious natives,
who - being mostly older members of their tribe -
know to keep their distance while they explore.
They stand back, occasionally stepping into frame
with an enigmatic remark, a riddle, coyness, metaphors
even the occasional moment of unwarranted affection or sentimentality
-just to keep things interesting.
The languages are not the same.
The words they use are in place of other ones they can't use.
So they all have that in common.
She, equally intrigued and engaged, pushes gently back.
These beautiful beasts are foreign to her as well.
She knows, as they know, the importance of guarding herself.
They dart in closer, then quickly back out of the light.
Her moves are slight and well calculated.
It becomes an enjoyable, soothing dance.
Easy enough to go on for a long time.
If either the foreigner or the natives
truly learn anything about each other during this engagement
is still unclear.
The persistence of the cycle suggests a pleasurable result.
Although little more is known about it.
Posted by kati at 11:18 PM
September 23, 2004
with the left
The injury was sustained to the right hand.
(It would have to be, right?)
Visiting an old friend on two weeks leave from Guantanamo Bay.
Sustained while punching someone.
Alcohol may have been involved with the incident.
Ice has been applied. The troops have been immobilized.
This entry was typed with the left hand.
So it's short.
Posted by kati at 02:36 AM
September 01, 2004
Being poor was not such a drag in hindsight
She wonders why it seems so different for her-
for it does seem unlike what the others always say it is.
It does not seem as natural when she tries it. No matter what she does,
she totters and wobbles like a newborn giraffe until she collapses in a frustrated heap.
It does not seem so easy, as she is always told it is.
Someone always wondering
What it is that happened to her.
She made it one week
- making out like a teenager -
the teenager she never really got to be, when she thought about it.
She made it one week, after what seemed like her whole life, or more,
one week before everything shut back down.
So much of what she is
is being only with herself, and decorating her world in a way that she can bear to look at it every day. Reality is not necessarily her first priority, lets just say.
She thinks to herself:
If I can get through having someone put their hands on me,
for one week every three years or so,
then maybe in six years I'll be able to do two weeks.
In nine years, three weeks.
And so on, until I shortly die.
These somewhat dismal numbers don't please her much.
There's a moment where her breath catches in her throat,
and she wishes it was another way.
But a man can't change who he is, so they say, and she knows it.
And while he leans down to her she looks only forward now.
No matter what she wants. It's already over.
ps. see Garden State if you do anything.
It rocks more than I can even say.
Talk to the one that made you
Talk to the one that understands
Talk to the one who gave you all the light in your eyes.
Posted by kati at 12:45 AM