Aristotle was right.

Unsteady, he picked up the phone and dialed the number of his Stanford professor. It was pushing two am. A few rings and then a female voice.

“Is Tom in?” he asked politely, and yes, I think even a touch blithely. 

“No. . . . He’s in Europe, and isn’t it a little late to be calling?” The professor’s wife spoke kindly but didn’t bother to hide the scolding tone that years of experience with people of this sort had taught her.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he replied, “and I’m terribly sorry now.” And he was. 

But being the good wife and courteous woman that she was and is, she offered, “Would you like me to give him a message?”

“Yes.” In the time it took to speak that one word, the pulse came back into his voice. “Can you tell him: Aristotle was right.” He spoke desperately but firmly. 

The professor was already and would be more worried about him when the wife relayed the student’s message. The professor would not understand, but he would know. 

With this knowledge, our student (who is quite brilliant and whose simple declaration contained a world within) replaced the phone, slid down spine to the wall, until his head pressed upon his knees, and wept. 

nightwalk

the sparkling of a tree accosts our vision,

like city lights viewed from a plane,

it tunnels through our retinas and settles,

faintly glowing even now.

the snail roads are so small

that as they light the way,

they sometimes lose themselves

in the ashy smooth bark.

the sky falls lower, closer, 

breathing on us.

it is a wet paper crumpling and sagging,

vaguely tugging at its seems.

the trees are lit from their leaves,

the veins throbbing with luminescence,

one can almost feel a heat emitted.

moths crash into the dazzle. 

anatomy of an awkward tan

i have become exceedingly good at acquiring really bad sunburns. 

to whom it may concern:

yes, i speak english.

yes, i am an english teacher.

no, NO, i do not want to teach you english. see that whole english teacher/librarian (i'd like to add) business takes up a whole lotta time. 9 hrs a day + homework is quite enough for me. i don't care if you want to pay me, or if you need to pass a hotel hospitality test, or if you're the principal of the school, or how many days in a row you ask. a girl can only do so much before she starts feeling a tingly, panicky, mild insanity. thank you for asking though.

melt

Tonight, I read the younger girls a story about a family. Becky stopped me when I turned to a page with a picture of a mom and daughter and said, "P. Oh-len, you is the mom, and I is your baby." Then she started rubbing my back the way I always do to her and said, "You is the good mom." 

I never knew my heart could feel like this.

E. Dickinson

If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate drawers,
until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting 'til my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin wing,
That will not state its sting.

i like everyone i've ever met from canada (and germany)

but that is neither here nor there. 

Vancouver, B.C. : home of a very pretty coldness