Thursday, March 31, 2011

Lamplight (89/365)

The lamplight glances off my wall, through the colored shades, with a glow that makes my heart tingle.
It reminds me of the rainbow bed tent I had when I was little, which was the COOLEST thing.  Every now and then my dad would assemble it for me, snapping together the yellowy plastic tubes that became the tent poles (they made me think of ziti), and stretching the cover over the poles, over the bed, into an indoor camp.  I would also be allowed a glow stick on those nights, which heightened the excitement.  In the morning the sunlight shown through the rainbow-colored nylon, and I would lie and watch the colors: how they swirled and shone.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Spiced Orange (88/365)

The shadows strike limestone 
like cloves studded along orange rind,
sweet and sharp.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Bedtime Snack (87/365)

It's Lent, and I gave up sweets, as usual.  There's really no vice that means so much to me.  Every year, though, I end up tweaking my Lenten fast a little bit and redefining the sacrifice.  For example, one year I developed a rabid taste for potato chips (hitherto regarded with complete indifference) and decided to give up snacks between meals.  One year I began eating bread with butter and cinnamon sugar (technically a breakfast food and therefore not dessert) each night, so I had to add breakfast-foods-in-hours-that-are-not-breakfast to the list of prohibited treats.  This year I've twice made the mistake of consuming half a sleeve of saltines in one sitting as I peruse the news about Mostest Favoritest of All Time Sports Team.   I've decided to fast from mindlessly eating foods while I'm at my computer.  Tonight I had a measured ration of four (or was it five?) saltines.  It doesn't sound reasonable when I write it out like that, but it seemed so at the time.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Friday, March 25, 2011

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Stacked (82/365)

I keep adding more books to the pile on the bookshelf at the foot of my bed.  It looks ready to topple.  Now that the top book pokes above the bed, I worry about kicking them in my sleep.  But I'm not worried enough to to eliminate anything from my reading list.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

New Jeans (81/365)

These are the jeans!
(these jeans are for you)
That you will make you hot like te de gengibre!
That will you make you smooth like merengue
These jeans!
Will make you bright, will make you glow!
(These jeans for you)
These are the ones that will make your pulse like bachata.
New jeans will put new life in your veins!
New jeans will put new beats in your head,
New words in your mouth, new words to call out.
Take all this light that you see
(It's burning for you)
And make it your life!
These are the jeans!

Busy Desk (80/365)

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Things that Flutter (79/365)

cupcakes with butterfly wings
wrapping paper with ribbons and strings

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Not so Super Moon (78/365)

Well, it looked cool in person.  I hope YOU had the chance to gaze at this super moon!

Friday, March 18, 2011

Right to the heart (77/365)

The Gift of Gab (76/365)

It is not like me to wear green feather boas for St. Patrick's Day,
 or green glitter shamrocks (tacky),
 or green four-leaf clovers (inaccurate),
or green t-shirts that celebrate profligate drinking (wrong).

But today as I got ready to head out to the pub,  my roommate came in from work, 
bedecked in feathers,
and sniffled. 
She was stricken with a cold and couldn't come out, but urged,
"You should wear my boa!"

I don't think I've ever had so many conversations with strangers
or so many smiles on the subway.
But with the green feather boa, it was easy.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Grey Evening (75/365)

Nearly Deserted Now (74/365)

My street's nearly deserted now,
without pedestrians,
without passers-by,
without the cadence of impassioned conversation
or the drum beat of reggaet├│n.
There hasn't been a honk in nearly two hours.
Only a few pastel shades glimmer
from the building across the street.
My street is quiet now.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Friday, March 11, 2011

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Worn (68/365)

I'm ready for this Lent, this Ash Wednesday
To be pure,
to live on only what I need
To forget the things that make me forget
Who I really am
That make me forget
Who is most important
Ready for a time of
warm tea, and
fresh air, and
quiet prayer,
and for the worn out and worn down to be renewed.

Red Shoes (67/365)

Monday, March 7, 2011

Proud Duck (66/365)

This blog post is a tribute to my best friend.  When we lived together in college, we had to walk around a little landscaped lake to get to our house on the far end of campus.  Ducks splashed there, and we sometimes stopped to watch them.  My friend especially loved it when they wriggled, under-and-out, through the water.  Sometimes they turned completely on end, feet and tail waving in the air above the surface.   These little rubber duckies are from her wedding shower.  We had a "rain shower" theme, with paper umbrellas in the cupcakes and flowers tucked into bright green galoshes.  Her other best friend and I set rubber ducks floating in her garden pond, where they bobbled in the late summer evening.

I took a handful of ducks as a souvenir.  They moved with me to grad school, and to my first apartment in Shrimp Town, and are now in the City of a Thousand Honks.  Today I talked to my best friend and we went over the guest list for her baby shower.  It had been a while since we had gotten to catch up and I heard about the baby doing a little dance in her belly and that her name is all picked out, though still a secret.  I told her about my hectic new job and the crazy honks of my city.  We hung up, I had dessert, and I wandered around the apartment a little bit.  I saw my little ducks at the edge of the tub, and I felt thankful and blessed, buoyed by our friendship once again.

The good times roll gently towards a stop (65/365)

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Friday, March 4, 2011

The recognition that it was imperfect only made it more perfect. (63/365)

Aftermath (62/365)

This is as much as I could clean up from yesterday's feather explosion.  I had bits of feather following me around at work today and they're still blowing around my apartment.  I can hear how appalled my mom is from here, and it's probably concern for my allergies.   I'm looking forward to getting out of work a few hours early tomorrow so I can have time to vacuum my bed off and give the apartment a good clean.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Plumage (61/365)

I got a package of feathers for an art project today, and poured them out to inspect them.  While it was an explosion of fun, I now understand why my mom never let me have feathers when I was small.  I don't think they'll be thoroughly cleaned up for at least six months.