*****This was a commission piece I wrote for the composer, Eric Whitacre, about the birth of his son.
I saw you today at a blind intersection. I knew it was you from the smoke sign snaking out the window of a yellow SUV at 6 am. .. A borrowed car from a borrowed life. You—never a fan of sports or yellow, or utilitarian in any sense of the word. Still a sign—like an ancient indian … Continue reading Blind Intersection
37 degrees is the temperature a normal body holds. She woke up cold beside him and already knew. He stared up blinkless--dust already forming on his pupils. She filled him again and again, punching in time to the tinny disconnect of the speakerphone counting with her: one and two and three and four and five. She pauses, ear to mouth … Continue reading 37 degrees
Side by side, we enter separate time zones. You Australia, me—Japan. We are in the same room but still separated by a cloud of pixels—billions of free-floating information particles we cycle in and out between us like air. We are like twin pupae forming in the blue incandescence. We’ve grown, attached to the same … Continue reading Phototaxis
They've formed a circle again... a flock of designer sweat suits, leaving me to stare down the soft gullet of their hoods. They stand like exotic birds shifting stick legs, chirping in a language I can't decipher of the glorious plumage of mates and the height of houses as we wait for children, still … Continue reading Of Wings and Worms
I still reach for you in the space between reality and reflex. Still expecting to feel you flip like a fish under my fingers and not floating belly up somewhere in a container marked biohazard. While I am still here swollen and sore, refusing to contract, to clench down … Continue reading Catch and Release
All that remains is the marble of your back as you lie on your side asleep like a fallen column on bed sheets stretching out between us like forty years of Sinai sand. I read the ridge of your spine skimming the braille of vertebrae for something buried deep as memory You shift … Continue reading The Wailing Wall
In a windowless room, our shirts pushed up over the elbows, in order to touch the bottom without getting wet. Feeling in the muck, through the foreign food bodies, for the soft stick of forks and the smooth underbelly of spoons. The mist from the sprayer slicks every surface to a dangerous sheen. … Continue reading The Consumer and the Consumed