Category: In My House
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In the Bath
There are two bathrooms in my house, the one downstairs which has the shower that the dog sometimes uses, and the one outside my bedroom where the clawfoot tub lives. It’s a grand old thing, and was in the house when I moved in: cast iron, painted white on the inside, purple on the out,…
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Ghosts In the Pages
There are ghosts caught between the pages of this old book I have, pressed like moths between the paper. I can see their shadows when I turn the pages, the line of a shoulder here, the curve of an eyebrow there. Sometimes, when the light is just right, I can see the ghosts on facing…
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Unsettled
I am dreaming of a girl named Adelaide. In the light of the sun, her hair is the color of sunflowers, her eyes the deepest blue, her lips apple red, and her disposition equally bright and warm. By moonlight however, she becomes a seductress, hair and eyes black as onyx, lips cold and aching for…
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A Mysterious Key
There is a key on the kitchen counter this morning, where none was when I got into bed last night. I ask Bez about it. “I have no idea where it came from,” she says. “I thought you put it there.” I turn to the Kitchen God. “Did you put this here?” Of course he…
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Dreams
I wake from a dream this morning of people I used to know that I never see, friends and lovers, gone and gone. This explains my melancholia this morning. There are days where perhaps staying in bed all day is an option that should be allowed.
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Apricots and Snow
Somewhere tonight it is snowing. Bez’s hair smells of apricots. Her belly is warm under my palm. She breathes softly but deeply as she sleeps There is safety in numbers. Somewhere tonight it is snowing. But not here.
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The Right Word
I have three thousand, six-hundred and thirty-two ideas for what to write about, and currently none of them are stirring me from my comfortable bed of lethargy. Some of these are things that relate to me: the boy with the wild hair named Christian who I once thought I would marry; being snowed-in with Laura…
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The Smaller View
I am only interested tonight in things in the macro, in the close-up. I am closed to the bigger picture, to interconnectedness. All that I want is the individual, the broken piece, the tiny flaw. There is a chip in the mirror in my bedroom, a shallow pool of black from which the silver has…
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Butterfly Dress
This dress is made of butterflies. They fly out of my closet by the hundreds, fluttering in seemingly random patterns around the bedroom before they begin to settle, one by one, onto my bare skin. I can feel their tiny feet sticking to me as they settle and position themselves, a swallowtail here, a mourning…
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Kofta Curry
Bez brings home Indian take-out, and we have dinner on the sofa while watching The English Patient. She has no patience for Ralph Fiennes being all dewy-eyed over Kristin Scott Thomas, but she indulges me my desire to watch it, mainly because of the horrible crush I have on Naveen Andrews, who mostly is known…