Daddy

As I grow into an excited adulthood full of responsibility and pressure, high hopes and potential, he grows out of his. As I speed up, he slows down. I always strove to match his fast pace. Now I feel like I zoomed past him too fast, and it feels like free falling.

My Second Poem from the Black Forest Writing Seminars

Girl Scout

She only came in December

which worked well for me

so I could spread her

on my winter toast

sprinkle her freckles on top

or drizzle her in my teacup

when my throat

caught an itch.

My little Thin Mint.

I was her best customer,

I bought one of every kind

except Tagalongs

because those were bad for my cholesterol

said my wife, but

she's in the freezer now

so, it doesn't matter.

Fourteen boxes and a flute of milk later,

although she played piccolo in band,

it became passé to market her wafers

or Dulce-de-Leche the grip of my hand.

I was her best customer

until seventh grade when she quit

to grind lamb at the Do-Si-Do dance.

Next winter my knuckles started to twitch.

At a waffle house in upstate New York

while declaring, I’ll have the potato skins

I realized she was the waitress

with the apricot bosom and shortbread hips.

She gave me a bear hug and

made a joke

about how all these years later

she was still taking my order.

katrina tulloch

Realize

Oh NO, in 2030, when people have themed parties like we have 60s, 70s, 80s themes-- they're going to do 2010s and everyone will dress up as hipsters and carry around Starbucks lattes and iPhones. AHH!

PS. I don't feel like telling Howard's story anymore. I'll just keep it in my back pocket for later, but is a good one.

Brink of Tears #1

I almost cried twice today, for two different reasons. I might be in need of a good cry, it's been a while, but today was just ridiculous.

This trip was almost perfect. I haven't lost anything. I made it to every class, saw magnificent places, met unbelievable people, and became brave. I engulfed myself in culture, food, beauty, and did things that would terrify a 16-year-old me. Until today, when I woke up too late, missed my train, missed my plane, and had to call Daddy for help like a fucking princess. I can't stand my idiocy sometimes.

In any case, I am currently typing this from a lovely little room in a quaint Frankfurt hotel. Life could be much, much worse. But desperately running around train stations today nearly pushed me over the edge. I didn't have seat reservations, so every time I would snag an empty seat, some German would come over and start waving their reservation in my face, speaking their schloshy foreign tongue. Of course they sound much angrier than they actually are, but after this happened six times, I ended up curled in a ball in the train corridor, atop my red polka dot luggage, while people buzzed back and forth, giving pitiful looks to The American Girl.

At the hotel though, I made a friend named Howard. His story is the feature presentation, which will come as soon as I can purchase more expensive internet. Excuz-moi.

My First Collage Poem

. . october . .

scuttling along the sidewalk

I first got my period

thinly disguised as watercress soup

hugely embarrassing

due to its high frequency

sollte de Spritze und Kontrollen verlangen

Mel was 45 years old

Father was looking directly into the camera

the high drama of my young life

It killed him.

It killed him

and I stirred the ice cubes with my finger

I think I’m anti-hammock

Send the product and the reasons

for the return

along with the original receipt

before the bird eggs hatch

in a salad of sticky freedom

I Am So Very Easily Inspired.

Here I am in a place that looks like this.

Eating food that looks like this and smells even better.

I can't help but be saturated with inspiration and imagination. The color, the cobblestones! The smells of buttery croissants wafting from the baikeries, unlike anything in the states! Tomorrow we must prepare an action scene from our second short story and a draft of our first poems. My work is imbued with sensory words, no doubt a result of Freiburg itself.

Tomorrow we are also reading nonsensical poems and I truly love these the most.

Lines like Jeffrey McDaniel's:
I was gonna defy gravity in her celestial body
but I had performance anxiety, so I wrote Baby

Jupiter in black Magic Marker in her forehead
and plummeted back into the bar.

...appeal to the illogical, childish, and stubborn poets like me. I can't stand long lines of structured, ornamental language. I can't slow down that much. I want short, sweet, punches of absurdity. Not even just playing on my five senses, but transcending any notions that I have of everyday life. I love this kind of art and I hope you'll like the poems I come up with soon.