I'm applying to creative writing MFA programs instead of theology programs. Practicality is for the timid. I hate to quote Reagan, but the future really does belong to the brave. A life of working for the Roman Catholic church and pretending that I didn't love my queer friends, IUDs, and women who wear clerical collars would have been a life wasted.
So here's a poem I wrote about the mat. It's not done, and it doesn't have a title.
So here's a poem I wrote about the mat. It's not done, and it doesn't have a title.
One day in the future, you will
remember this summer as the summer of rain. You sit in the laundromat
with your legs crossed reading some magazine and clutching a denim
bag with a frayed drawstring that once held clothes that smelled like
sweat and spilled liquor. You look at the dirt under your fingernails
and think about geologic time and where it had been before it found
its way to you. Rain beats against glass windows streaked with cheap
window cleaner and trickles down in rivulets – a word that you
always say out loud (to no one in particular) because you like the
way it feels in your mouth. A white washing machine tosses your
clothes with powdered soap and you realize that, between the rain and
the washer, you are surrounded by water, and suddenly you feel like
you are in an aquarium, (not that you know what that feels like).
Chris took this picture of me outside the house one afternoon. Sometimes I am photogenic.
