She can turn you into a pretzel. Spent two thousand and one
repeating the mantra bony landmarks bony landmarks
and listening to Clipse music. She once turned five dollars into strawberries
and a two litre Baxter ice cream. So supportive—I thought I could grow
old in her spare room. Once we changed a man into a horse
and into a man again. Once I dated a giant
who broke our pull out Japanese cedar futon from the Internet
and my bed and the Internet and we can laugh
about it now. Amanda is an essential
oil master. She told me that my aura was blue with red freckles
and would ask me sometimes to let go
of my body so she could turn me into a pretzel. I was scared
to be a pretzel but she was a great re-arranger. I had parts
of myself I did not know were part of myself.
My little pea-shaped bone adjacent to the clavicle sounded
beautiful and cracked beautifully. She thought my problem
was I could not imagine my body was spaghetti
through guided imagery. At restaurants she could never decide,
did she want cedar plank roasted salmon or the Thai long noodle
soup. She found for me my greater
trochanter and I couldn’t shut up about it, located my wing
of ilium and said now I could let go of my legs.
MEMORIES WITH FAUCET BOY
My phone is full of snooze notifications. I wake up and lean
on so many things. A friend climbed a mountain
and had the strength to drink Sangria after. Mountains
are too much like boyfriends. They get you high
and you see the whole world and sometimes you have to
get over them. Her mountain is Seymour. He was not
intermediate like he said. I got a foot fungus
from a public shower and it stayed. It would not get over me.
My roommate left town and said watch the garden. I would try to
make it succeed. I wondered if the kale
needed support and saw the rooftops of beets— but could the arugula
one it down a little? It was all very cool, very different.
They had such tact. They loved it in the ground
and you sure can’t say
that about everything. My boyfriend’s dead
ancestor once chased him with a hammer
so he wears shoes indoors. I always thought he was rude
but he says its cultural. He ex-boyfriend called him
Faucet Boy because he was always running between
hot and cold. He calls himself Hi Viz.
He said he was trying to marry his friend
to get dual citizenship. He liked to have his foot
in a lot of pots. I prayed the morning glories I planted
would respect each other’s space to be different people. My boyfriend
once played Fleance in Macbeth and ran off the stage
screaming. He has a deep obsession with driving the California coast
in his Volvo and I said tell me everything. I`m not going
to be judgemental. At night he revved like a motorbike.
I flirt with the garden. It’s really upfront
about things. I think it’s going in a good direction.
Soon I`ll have visitors. The upstairs neighbor has tomatoes coming
in. Gardens can be super mellow.
It doesn’t want to talk about politics all the time.
I bet it’s really warm, inviting, at parties.
About the Writer
MW is a poet from who has travelled across Canada on the Greyhound twice. His work appears in The Malahat Review, Arc, Matrix, Pulp Literature and other places. He has a book coming out next year. His Twitter is @croonjuice.