Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

A friend of mine posted on our group blog about a blessed experience he had at the Joshua Radin concert last night in NYC. A happy crowd, an acoustic Dylan cover, and a talented (and handsome) performer? Yes, please!

day two

stuck in bed with a medley of bronchitis and swine flu (as diagnosed by your local insta-care) means that i finally have time to post the goods i've been saving up for you, my dear friends.

The Cinnamon Peeler

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
You could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to you hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
--your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
you climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
Peeler's wife. Smell me.

Michael Ondaatje

a poem, of sorts

i'm currently lying in bed in a sequined hoody and leggings, swimming beneath a hundred heavy blankets and a floaty sea of kleenexes. i've succumbed to defeat by infantile infectious somethings (i.e. i have literally been coated by a multitude of six-year-old viruses and have been unable to stop coughing for the past four and a half weeks) and thought: oh where, oh where did my transpacifists go?

silly question. you've been here all along.

so i've been doing this little teaching thing for the past few months, and it sort of takes up the entirety of my life. and suddenly, at the age of twenty-three, i have 29 little guppies that i get to kiss and hug every day, and worry about whether they have enough food at home, and whether or not they put the larger number in their hearts as an addition strategy. i run around the classroom commanding "pencils down. hands folded. eyes on me," whilst sprinkling magic math dust on their heads with a tattered silver wand. i teach them how to say nice things to each other, and we practice giving each other compliments. when they do something wrong, they say sorry to one another, and not just sorry, but sorry for ___________, and this is what i can do next time to fix it.

and sometimes, james marshmallow (whose name may or may not actually be marshall), who has the largest smile on planet earth and the smoothest, softest cheeks (which he claims is possible for anyone if you get puffy like him!), when he isn't suspended for rolling down the hall and kicking the principal, or suffering from a high degree of anxiety disorders no six-year-old should ever have to deal with, also plays the apology game.

after kicking at the wall for a half hour and then throwing a screaming tantrum under the table one day:




i was under the table. i'm sorry for going under the table. i love you. i'm sorry, do you accept my apology, do you?

after which, while trying to hide the giant tears rolling down my face, i squeezed his puffiest of cheeks and replied, oh james. i love you so much back, and i accept.

kind of my personal hero

lovely

cayman islands is one of my favorite kings of convenience song and i just found this beautiful b-side that features feist. such a good song for days like these:


if you haven't heard declaration of dependence, their new album, check it out on grooveshark.com!