Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Probably the worst blogger ever? Yeah.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Clothes Ramblings
Sunday, May 8, 2011
airports suck
I'm sure everything will be good once I'm actually home, but I hate change sometimes (like now). And I'm really tired. Not that I've been anything but a ball of emotions this week. Really, it's been crazy.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Dublin
it darts from your hands
pulled by high-heeled cobblestone roads
murderous taxis
trampled newspaper mush cigarette butts
years of bikes rusting algae in the Liffey
and mute nights where it only rained.
it takes away spinning
midnight pub worlds with their stomping and dancing and hidden corners
in seconds, takes
picnics of wine and tree climbing castle climbing life swirling,
accents that turn talking
into a song,
and the wind that makes you fly into busy anything streets
into leafy iron gated parks sprawling
with all of Ireland on its lunch break except you have all day.
then turns it all into a dream.
Friday, May 6, 2011
it's so weird right now
The people selling strawberries and grapes out of baby carriages on Henry Street in their best Irish-Cockney accents.
All the performers on Grafton Street.
The flowers!!
Dancing in pubs...
Being able to get into pubs. I still have three whole months before I'm 21!! (NOT FAIR)
Cobblestone streets (except when I'm in heels. I won't miss them then).
The words, "cheers," "gaff," "grand," and "love," and probably a bunch of others. But I'm totally bringing them back.
Not always being carded.
The walk behind christchurch to get to pubs.
Stealing pint glasses. Oh, how I'll miss that.
Multicolored doors.
The walk to campus.
Random hen parties in the lobby.
The accents.
The PEOPLE.
But, one thing I won't miss is being the shortest person wherever I go. And I am excited to go home. Sort of. I'm probably gonna cry on the plane.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Three Poems
she didn’t know it
when his heart stopped
beating. their sleep disappeared that night
and when she woke
he was cold, more stone than infant
than baby, her child. they say,
so early, it’s a blessing. poor thing
didn’t suffer long. look
at them, us, look at you, nothing
but bones, but skin. but
she didn’t know it when
his heart stopped beating and that meant
his heart stopped beating.
his heart stopped beating.
the house is broken with the rhythm
of the thousand bodies it couldn’t shelter.
it stands there a shattered
bombsite
ticking with every heartbeat
pushed aside
and put out too early.
they were once people
and back then they fought,
protested with fists and guns and tears
until their everyday laughter, everyday hopes switched
and burst
into the stillness of a billion muted bones.
now the house lies starving in Ireland
In Darfur, huddled bloody
and wasting for water in Haiti
sick and dying.
it’s on every street
in every country
beating loudly and helpless
filled with too many ghosts
and a ticking that can never end.
she stands in front of the bathroom mirror
clutching windex
kool-aid blue.
no matter how much she scrubs
she can’t change what she sees.
once, in a century forgotten decades ago
half a culture starved
until they were nothing but rib cages.
but she could never eat a potato.
they’re too big and they remind
her too much
of what she sees in the mirror.