tandi. my superheroine

the sunday that i was supposed to leave
for winter break,
i arrived at the airport twelve hours too early.
wide awake, i headed to the grocery store
to make brunch for the hayworth kids.

i texted lawrence to come home.
called home to make sure everyone was home
i made a little feast.
(i was already having the holiday separation anxiety).

as everyone finished piling food onto their plates,
we positioned ourselves around our flimsy coffee table -
covered by an old red flannel blanket from bakersfield.
i lifted my camera to take a picture of the food on the table -
the colors beautifully spoke
against the mood of genuine happiness
from standing around this table together.

i noticed everyone's feet on the parameter
of the table.
i told everyone to stand still
finally taking the only family portrait
that included all of us.




life is only as sweet
as the company you keep.
these friends standing around this meal
provided the cushion for the
change that was lurking around the corner.

we both wore yellow
and laughed through
the daily bullshit and drowsiness.
thank you for the coffee.

we both pulled out a cigarette
and walked out
without exchanging words.
thank you for the light.

we picked up the phone
at the same time to call each other.
but you didn't know that part.
thank you for listening.

we once felt like one person
producing new things
and finding new words to express.
thank you for the moments.

i once went out on a limb.
i fell.

then found another tree to climb.

shahin's lair (part I and part II). treehouse. january 2009

l bear and d tiger. devon's mirror bar. westwood. january 2009

>

this back room contains
the earliest memories of my life.
behind the white paint
were cheap wooden panels
a yellow paisley print
now removed in the kitchen.

and for babies not even born
we adopt new names and sounds
to communicate what happens
to a person
who is learning to lose
all selfishness.

i am a stranger to my own past,
because i didn't remember
it like you.

i romanticized the parts
i'm not sure you remember anymore
and gave up feeling
like you were
somehow accountable
for the craze i turned my life into.

and as i pull away from you,
i see the strings
that tie me to everyone else
are tugging too.

and i'm not really left with many
to talk to about all these things
that i discovered in the process
of liberating myself from you.

so please don't
take offense
in my sometimes
strange silence.

i get tied up in my words
now that i have become
conscious of them.

Cape Canaveral - Conor Oberst