When I was growing up, I had no idea that people traveled in August. Where I'm from, vacations happen in June and people spend their time on a beach without sunscreen. It wasn't until last year when I went to Paris did I become aware that entire cities basically shut down so people can escape the heat for a few weeks and unwind. What a concept. This past long and lonely August, the Bond House may as well have been France.
Poem #16
Aphids are laying eggs / underneath my fingernails // I'm looking for ladybugs / to eat them all up, fatted
Poem #15
when i saw the trumpeter blow / the horn, my jericho heart came down, / moved from flesh to fluid.
The Bond House: Chopped Edition
With summer winding down to a close, it’s easy to get behind on important things: chores, paperwork, meeting up with friends/randos-I-met-at-bars-the-weekend-before, going to bed at a reasonable hour, blogging. A lot has happened here in the Bond House. After a familial July full of dinner and drinking, we lost roommates to school, business trips, thesis, Venezuela. This month there are but a paltry four Bondies (though undoubtedly the cream of the crop) in Boston. I’m not coping well. We don’t know what to do with all of the tomatoes.
Poem #14
I tell my friend I think about suicide / every night, the thought a pillow mint
Poetry Update 3!
This week has been one of those "When it rains, it pours" sort of situations. After a submission frenzy earlier this month, two of my poems were selected for publication later this year. One was "The Wonton Taco Effect", a piece that I have been trying to have placed for nearly 2 years. The other was "Ceylon, Ceylon", something that I wrote at the kitchen counter last month while a roommate made French toast. I might be a poet after all. bam
Poetry Update 2!
Exciting news, everyone. My poem “Rule of Nines” has recently been published by the gracious team at The Indianapolis Review. Please, check it and the other great work out! bam
Poem #13
Your head is a Lazy Susan / spinning busy, out of control / like the wheels of time grinding / you down
Untethered
My father always told me to look to the stars to find my way home. That was true a long time ago, when he was younger, before the universe started fraying at the edges. The stars haven’t shined brightly in decades. Even if they did, I’m not sure I would know the way home, especially all the way up here. But it’s easy to pretend that I can pinpoint where Earth is out this little window, despite the fact that there is nothing but blackness and the occasional moon or bulbous orange planet that doesn’t remind me of our galaxy at all. We’re far from where we started.
Poem #12
we linger on your hangnails, / preparing to be chewed away.
