Written Word
From a young age I was interested in writing and though I abandoned the art form for some years, one college course (thank you Hank Jones) rekindled the love I have for it, and gave me the confidence to consider myself not just a writer but a bit of a poet to. That being said, here's some of my work!
01
There's A Cat at My Door
There’s a cat that comes to my door every night. The cat has always been at my door; even when I was just born, it came to the hospital room. Growing up as a child, in my home or when at a sleepover, the cat would be there. When I moved to college, it arrived at the dorm. When I graduated and moved into an apartment it followed suit. Every night, at slightly different hours, he will come to my door in any form it takes, and will just sit there. It doesn’t meow, it doesn't pace. It just sits. Every day for my entire life, this is what it has done. This bothers some people. “You must be feeding it!” “Have you tried not looking at it? It obviously likes the attention.” “You don’t have a cat, that’s impossible...and weird.” “You can’t come over if you have a cat, I’m allergic!” I’ve tried to take this out on the cat, screaming at it from my foyer, telling it that if I am to live a normal life, the cat must leave me. I begged it to not return, to go find someone else’s stoop to sit upon. But every night, for my whole life, the cat came. When I studied abroad, the cat was there. When I camped, it sat at the edge of my tent. This only frustrated me more. There were people who tried to console me about the cat. “Oh when I was younger, I had a dog that would follow me, it’ll leave eventually.” “There’s plenty of cat people out there!” “It’s your cat, it obviously chose you, don’t worry too much” “At least it's not one of those hairless cats, I hate those.” But this never comforted me. I didn’t want to have to worry about the cat. I didn’t want to have to introduce myself and then explain the cat. I didn’t want to hide it but then get questions when the cat eventually made its nightly visit. I wanted to be me. And I wanted the cat to be, well, a cat. I tried shooing it away, it’d simply look up at me. I attempted to pick it up and move it one day, but the cat simply trotted back up to my door, and sat back down, tail wrapped around itself neatly. I considered violence: maybe I should trap it, kick it off my porch, get a dog to scare it off, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. It was just a cat… It was a cat sitting at a door and no matter what anyone said, that’s all it was. It didn't claw at my welcome mat. It didn’t leave dead mice on my stoop. It never cried for food. It was just a cat. Having been in and out of dating. Off and on with schooling. Back and forth with my parent’s relationship with me. And wishy-washy with careers. I never knew what to expect the next year of my life, or next week as a matter of fact. But there was always the cat. One night, especially tired, emotionally spent, and broke beyond belief. I sat in my dining room and sobbed. I cried until my table was more of a reservoir, and my cries were nothing more than coarse sighs and shudders. But I stopped after a while, and finally convinced myself to go lay in bed, moving my pity party from one room to the next. On my way, I stopped and looked towards my front door. I padded over and opened it, and there was the cat. I looked down at it, my eyes red and puffy, tears still lingering at the corners. In return it stared back at me, the same half-lidded look it always had, displayed across its face. I sighed heavily to find my voice, then brought my hand up and over my shoulder in an arched signal. “Come on. Let’s call it a night” Very politely, the cat stood and trotted off to my bedroom, seemingly familiar with the layout of my home. I closed and locked the door before following it. I pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed, watching as my new guest did a small stretch before laying down on the pillow next to me. I stared at that cat all night. From evening to dawn. And in the morning, I felt more refreshed than ever.
03
Company Potluck
I’ve had this job for years now, and this email was the first notion of any effort outside usual work hours that I was expected to put in. “Dear Team”, it read, “I’m pleased to announce we will be having our first ever company potluck this Friday!” it continued. I took a moment to peak around the office, and noticed everybody else mouthing words at their computer screen, they were reading it too. “Please be sure to make a dish that is big enough to share (with everyone in the office), and bring it to the conference room. This will be from 6 to 8 pm and is a mandatory event for all staff. Thanks!” I stared at my screen and blinked. It was Thursday, and this was the first word to anybody. I looked around again and was this time met with people rubbing their temples or sighing heavily over their keyboards. They were annoyed too. I looked at the clock at the corner of my monitor and saw that it was 4:30 pm, meaning we only had 30 minutes till everybody left. I then noticed my boss’ office door was closed. We only had a few rules in the office, all pretty basic in practice. Don’t eat any food with a name on it, refill the stapler when it’s low, and if the boss’ door is closed then he’s not available. I sat there, staring at his nameplate on the wall, begging for his door to open so I could ask him if he truly meant this Friday. He couldn’t mean this one, barely 24 hours of notice is unreasonable even for him. Surely he means next week...surely. I turned back to my screen and re-read the email, once in my head, then once again quietly to myself. “This is bullshit!” For a moment I thought one of my thoughts had escaped. Until more and more started coming. “I have kids! What am I supposed to do about my kids on such short notice!?” “My sister’s wedding is Saturday! I’m supposed to be halfway to Santa Monica at 6pm!” “I can’t even cook!” Looking around for the third time I now saw people standing, people bickering to each other, pointing and complaining amongst themselves. Eyes shot glares like heavy bullets towards my boss’ closed door, and hands hit desks like gavels announcing the injustice the email held. I sat quietly at my cubicle, listening to the steady uproar my coworkers were crafting together, they had begun to move around the space, sitting at each other’s desks to lament even closer. Somebody was tapping the end of their pen, almost setting a rhythm for the rising chaos. There was a subtle harmony in the deep bass in some men’s voices and the rumble of the air conditioning. The insistent hiss in most women’s tones as they whispered venom towards our employer back and forth, synced with the whirring hum of our printer. I sat with sweaty palms, as the noise seemed to be growing and growing to devour the air around it, and just like any growing symphony, a crescendo was sure to come. And it did, in the sound of a doorknob turning. Almost as if practiced, everybody fell silent when our boss emerged from his office. The rage that was present just moments ago sat like a heavy smoke in the room that only we could see. It danced around him as he blissfully unaware stepped into our space. “Did everybody get the email?” Seemingly stripped of their voice, everybody around me just nodded, not uttering a word. I looked around, almost in horror. Here is who you were yelling at, here’s who you were cussing out, here’s who’s robbing you of a Friday afternoon! “Good...well, I’ll see you there!” I stared as he began to walk off, picking up his jacket off our coat rack, unbothered by the weight he had just unloaded on us. “Um, sir?” I almost didn’t recognize my own voice. Especially since I meant to sound more confident than I did. My boss turned on the point of his shoe and met my eyes, seemingly annoyed that I interrupted his departure. He nodded at me to continue. “Uh...What are you bringing to the potluck tomorrow? So I don’t accidentally bring the same.” I panicked, not sure what to ask but having to know that this was happening and wasn’t a horrific misunderstanding. He chuckled at the question, making me feel a bit stupid for asking, nervous that I had missed something entirely. “Why would I bring something when you all are? That’d just be too much.” And with that, he turned back around as if that was an acceptable response. That’s when it struck me, this man didn’t respect me or any of his other staff. My hopes to move up the company ladder were futile with him ahead of me. He was so comfortable in his position I’d have no chance to push past him. So I simply joined him. Standing from my desk, walking out from my cubicle, the clock just hitting 5. I grabbed my sweater off its hook and walked to the door before him. I quit that day. I quit being just another dish at a potluck...
04
My Simon
-inspired by the piece "Cat Nap" by Linda Volrath-
She must have known you before I did That’s the only way she could have painted such a perfect image of you When you were in the shelter back in 2011, did she pay you a visit? Perhaps she lived next door and had the pleasure of seeing you through the fence Every piece of you is within this picture, my boy Miss Volrath hasn't let an ounce of that personality go unnoticed She’s shared you with the world in a way, I could only dream of doing The pinkness hidden in your inner ears That matches your wide nose and little mouth Even the bit of height that was missing from the left ear’s tip Your splotches of color and how it blends into the yellowish white surrounding it The way your tail is striped but only enough so those that care to, can notice How your brow is heavy with all the years you’ve lived, and sleepiness you carry Visually you’re there, I see you in every corner of her work But more than anything I feel your presence I know this scene all too well, you’d recreate it daily for me The sweet smell of Mom’s garden, turned soil and plucked mint An occasional cry from one our hen’s, breaking the rhythm of their scratching The back and forth sliding noise of the back porch door All sounds you’d tilt your ears to listen to Waiting to see what voice, if any would call out from the patio To see if someone was there for you I always was my love Everytime my feet hit that cold cement And my eyes searched the yard I was there for you The sudden pop of green that’d flash when I call your name Eyes looking quickly to meet my gaze How softly they’d blink to show your endearment The pittering softness of your paws on grass as you trotted to me How you’d gain speed the closer you got Belly swaying side to side with each stride you’d take I miss the warmth of your fur Soaked and dripping in the sun’s rays Tail pointing to the red star, as I’d stroke your back The croak in that old meow, so coarse and deep It gave away your age in an instance But oh how youthful your companionship felt to me Though a snippet of the day to day we share It means the world to me... You were the world to me. I miss every aspect of this painting, And all the one’s she could’ve painted I love you too much I hope you know that Goodbye for now My Simon...
image by Linda Volrath
02
Disco Yes
-inspired by the song "Disco Yes" by Tom Misch, I recommend listening to it before/while reading-
Peach fuzz Soft and warm from the muzzle of two stumbling puppies Sweaty hands Pulling me around the chipped floor of a roller rink Blinding flash Of a camera in the bowling alley, capturing our smiles Cold feet Pressed against my calves, snapping me out of my dozing Dripping noses As we lay sniffling from the bonfire smoke, laughing through coughs Brisk wind Rolling off our matching sunglasses as we ride in that old jeep Prickly leaves Of mint and sage as we go around the garden snipping and catching Tail tapping In response to me throwing it off my hand, doing this back and forth Tired eyes From staring at the computer screen, working to beat your game together Drawn eyebrows Messy but perfect all the same, because you created this drag look for me Steaming Noodle Patiently on the end of your spoon as you ask me if it’s cooked enough Endless Affection When I look in every moment I get with all of you
image by pngtree.com
05
My Mother's Garden
I wish I was a vegetable in my mother's garden Cared for and covered in dirt I wish I was any of them The tiny sprouts she encourages endlessly Or the large yields she tells everyone about I'd give anything to be a vegetable in my mother's garden Hidden away from the rest of the world Surrounded by my plant siblings Awaiting the next morning when she'll water us again I wish I was a vegetable in my mother's garden...
06
Fighting Nohbody
The air is cold surrounding the bed I’ve nestled myself in Blankets wrapped so tightly around me that, they might resemble the way you use to tuck me in It’s been 4 months, with no phone calls and a handful of texts The distance is good for us, that’s what I tell myself Yet counting the days makes me sink further into my mattress How pitiful my sadness seems when angry is what I should be But I know my role, and I am not the one who gets mad I keep my calm and keep the peace even though I’m most deserving You and none of the others do that emotion justice Lazy in your expression, your choice of being bitter is not enough That’s how I know your side is unjustified, unearned Bitter can’t even begin to explain the messily poured cocktail of hurt and guilt The cross-wired entanglement of belittlement and ignorance An insistent bumping from a heart blocked up with undealt emotions I’d have the time of my life Ruining your day would make mine Just this once, I want it to be my role I’d play it so well… I’d be frothing at the mouth if I could yell at you just once Tears wouldn’t even run down my flushed cheeks They’d instead drip onto your lap, their rightful resting place How exhausted my lungs and tongue would be But how satisfied my brain would end up I’d sleep better in this bed afterward Watching you flinch at every word I’d throw The tingling rushing sensation from my chest to my fingers Slight buzz in my ears as I continue my tirade The numbness that my feet would experience If I stood and told you all the ways you’ve hurt me How purple my ankles would become Filibustering the living room with my nonstop reaction How tight my jaw would become from the constant movement Mouth dry with how long I’ve had you in this one-sided argument Sadly too good to be true A daydream I return to each time you scorn my character Or when you’d show where your feelings truly were Though I haven’t moved a muscle My eyelids are finally heavy, weighted enough to stay closed Imaginary talks with you always settle my nerves Comfort from the emptiness Stability in your absence... So thanks, for nothing.
