Love You On A Sunday

Love You On A Sunday

Dear B,
So, Sister-Heart, on the day of your birth, my gift to you is this Sunday. The nodding off sleep of contentment and love on a Sunday. The park getting dark on a Sunday. The new hope that sits green and quiet on a Sunday. The shimmering leaves I can see out my patio door as I sit here and write this. The baby crying across the alley as I sit here and write this. The cans of beer not quite ready in the fridge as I write this. The song that's playing whose chorus is telling me: 'Here it comes....' as I write this and the singer's right: here it comes. It's coming for all of us, this green knowing that no one gets hurt because we've done nothing wrong on a Sunday.

And when the head lays itself on a pillow, there's a slow smile, a kind closing of wise eyes that have lived on a Sunday, that have loved on a Sunday, loved in no particular direction or just loved anywhere; that love flung everywhere on a Sunday. The love that asks for nothing back on a Sunday. The perfect life that strikes me dumb with gratitude on a Sunday and someone passing in the street may think me mad with haunted eyes, but if they only knew how my heart broke so slow and kind on a Sunday and I always ask for more on a Sunday.

And when dark comes I will be alone in bed but not tired on a Sunday because the night is still wild in me, come what may on a Monday, an alarm and an office but right now it's a world away; right now I feel if I could only let go just so, I'd float straight out my window.

So many Sundays to come but I saved this special one for you, B.

This is my Happy Birthday to you: to love you on a Sunday.

Background: So here it is: my birthday note to a special lady on the other side of the country.  It's called 'Love You On A Sunday'.   It came out fast and it came out honest.  I am in the office right now but I no my destiny is to write and I feel fine to bide my time before the samurai-strike.  It is on its way.

Dear New Man

Dear New Man,

Where did you come from, and who are you really? I mean, really?

Honestly, I’ll never ask and I don’t want to know. If I never ask you, maybe you’ll never ask me, and we can float on, in our orbit of two, never even knowing what it is that we are avoiding.

Let’s listen to loud music, and shout into each other’s ears hanging on to every word. Keep ordering me cocktails, and I’ll keep pretending to try and pay. Let’s push through the crowd to the front of the dance floor, elbow people accidentally on purpose, and claim a space for revelry. Let’s make everyone wish they were us. Dance with me like you mean it - with and not to.

Wait for me, and tell me it was worth it. Tell me I’m pretty, even when my hair is messy and my makeup is all washed off. Lift me on to your lap, engulf me in your arms, and realize only once I’m there that I can’t be anywhere else. Surprise us both, and then let’s discover the surprise together.

Make me laugh, and I’ll make you.

Kiss me like you can’t stop… because I can’t. Swim with the current, go with it, let it wash over us, let us ride over it. Get pulled in to orbit with me. Let me curl up in a cozy spot - you know I’ll pick the right one. Talk to me about dreams and life and essence while the tides are calm, and don’t fight it when they rise again. And again.

Snore. I’ll tell you I don’t mind, and I don’t. But just keep being a little bit embarrassed by it anyways.

Ease in to the day with me. Make us a nice joint in the sun, and leave me some for later to save me a trip to a sketchy neighbourhood. Be chivalrous.

Leave like you don’t want to, but don’t call me tomorrow. Don’t ask me my last name. Don’t ask me to reveal the cards you can see hiding in my pocket.

Please don’t ask me where this is going. Even though I kind of wouldn’t mind if you were there when I arrived.

Siempre Te Amare

Siempre Te Amare

extraño tus besos, tus abrazos
extraño cuando te enojabas conmigo por pendejadas extraño que me cocines
tu me hiciste dormir otra vez ,,me diste amor,, tu me diste vida ,,no se 
que me hiciste que te amo tanto??
te escribo esto porque se que tal vez no hablaremos tanto como hasta ahora 
pues tu tienes que hacer tu vida ahi en Canada y nuevas cosas vienen para 
ti y tal vez no estemos en contacto mas yo nunca te olvidare nunca 
olvidare todo lo que pasamos en nuestro departamento te amo, de verdad te 
siempre te amare

To the unborn

To the unborn

This savage existence
Holds blossoms in its hands
Crushes them to free them
Their pollen, in the sky
A gift to the unborn
A death secretly in love with life

by Vassag Hovsep

Born right after you

Born right after you


You are one year older than me and you are about to be a father.

I can't help but think of all those times I finished my desert before you.

How slowly you opened your presents.

Pretending to cry so you'd get in trouble.

All those fights that seemed so important at the time.

Looking up to you for everything.

Feeling like you're the funniest person I've ever met.

Having a best friend to grow up with.

To push the van out of the snow with. To play risk for days with.

To talk about god, and life and bottled water until we wake dad up.

Becoming an adult and showing me, in your very undramatic way, the unconditional love a brother has for a sister.

It's funny how time passes and I realize you are that person somewhere else now, for other people. 

And that's okay. It's okay to grow.

But I still think of how grateful I am to have been born right after you, and now I will be there for your first child.


Having tried to erase you

Having tried to erase you

All right, I admit it. I miss you. I don't miss your loud, gravelly voice, but I do miss that husky sexiness in intimate settings. I don't miss your constant rambling & how often it centered around you, but I do miss the full disclosure, your willingness to reveal every aspect of you. I don't miss your aggression, your negativity, but I do miss your comfort with emotion, your willingness to own up to it. I miss your unabashedness. I miss your sweet thoughtfulness, the simple gestures. I miss your spontaneity. I miss your passion, your subserviance, your dominance, your explorations. I miss your hands, the creative ability they host, your tattoo. I miss your faithfulness, respect, and devotion. I miss your willingness to expand your horizons to include mine. I miss your dog. I wish you knew who you are. I almost wish you'd look for us, put forth some minute effort to contact us, to show us you do care, to prove everyone wrong, be a force to reckon with, so I don't have to keep making all these decisions about where to be. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt about all the past situations. I want to believe, but have nothing to show for it in either direction. I confess, I didn't give you much of a chance. I was too focused on you not being who I wished you were, rather than on who you are. But what is this? Am I just horny? Lonely? Or, having tried to erase you, am I now just drawing you differently? Anyway, I wish you could know, je ne te deteste pas.