Now are you so poised at ease?

Dear Today,

I have to tell you about my not so exciting love life drama. Okay so today I wake up and the sun glistens, spliced between the blinds and all the meek details about the morning are all intact. My boyfriend Art, yes that's his real name. Is sleeping beside me and he tells me how we are going to have the best night of our lives tonight after I get through my day being a housewife for our illegimate daughter Music.

I begin my morning drinking tea, preferably chamomile with ginger and I begin to salivate at the thought of my husband Art. Now for those of you who haven't met him he's 5'6 tall, likes to mountain bike on the weekends and owns a local artspace. We both found the artspace together when we were first dating and it took about 2 years for it to really establish itself. We function within the D.I.Y. community so it was no hassle for kids and young adults to showcase their wonderful talent and demonstrate their desire for a space like his. It is his for now because remember I am now a house wife. Because I sit around all day taking care of Music, Art loves to have threesomes with our girlfriend Poetry and me.

Let me tell you about prissy Poetry. She and I, when Art is working, we love to take a look around city libraries. There's one off of Connecticut Ave. with maroon handles and a broken street lamp. We usually like to take Music with us and we read poets such as Audre Lorde, Nick Flynn, and Jeffrey McDaniels. The other day Poetry, with her seductress lips whispered this poem called Emptying Town. There's a part where it goes , "the white handkerchief stuck in my throat. You know the way Jesus rips open his shirt to show us his heart, all flaming and thorny, the way he points to it. I'm afraid the way I'll miss you will be this obvious. I have a friend who everyone warns me is dangerous, he hides bloody images of Jesus around my house, for me to find when I come home; Jesus behind the cupboard door, Jesus tucked into the mirror. He wants to save me but we disagree from what. My version of hell is someone ripping open his shirt and saying, Look what I did for you. . . "

That whole par of the poem makes me think of Art. But enough about him. I'm hear to talk about my second love, Poetry. Poetry and I have had two real quarrels before and the best one includes scratched throats and long thorns. Thistles beneath a bedspread and all its venom glory! Poetry begins a soft tale about how she never gets to see Art and how he is always busy running the artspace and when he comes home most of the time he wants to make love to me and have Poetry run our day care for Music. At first they tango and rattle like a bee sting but this time Poetry is accused of child neglection when she prowls, hissing at us in the middle of making love and throws herself between us, knocking the wind right out of me, knocking the guilt right out of me-- she hasn't slept with Art in two weeks-- and it's her turn. It's hurting her.

Poetry has hair that I don't have. She has rustic red hair and it's long and is naturally wavy. She reminds me of a girl out of a John Currin painting-- very slender neck, high cheek bones--- and she's from Australia. She believes that there is really an 8th wonder of the world and the 8th wonder has yet to be found because he lingers beneath the ocean floors. She is wise in this way because Art and I agree that Poetry is a true visionary. She always comes up with these brilliant schemes for research and Art and I are so glad she's our girlfriend.

Together we enjoy going to Takoma Park and Art buys us all the magnified-worthy gems of consignment store offerings and Art buys tons of movies all for himself at Videoamericain. We then go into Polly Sue's one of my favorite vintage stores in Takoma Park, but Poetry gets a hissyfit everytime we go in there. She says she'd rather stroll Music on a walk near the church and watch the birds fly east. We tell her fine, go. We'll make out without you.


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There's more to be written about my lovely family. Maybe one day I'll post a picture of us instead. But that's all I have for now.

sincerest,

annA

Photo Journaling #1

Dear Today,
















love, umbiquious
annA