tarot reader

every morning im unsubscribing myself from emails of things in san francisco, i cant bare to look at all the posts from daily candy and ticketmaster, clothing store sales and bar promotions. that is my old life and im trying to be very present now. im trying to look forward instead of back. its easier than you think when sprinkled in the middle of those emails i unsubscribe to are love letters from you. my future, mi futura, i read them over and over before i fall asleep, i am having an affair with my computer, i cant put it down. last night i cant even look at you on the screen i felt so overwhelmed, this piece of plastic is infuriating. it isnt you, i cant touch it, i cant hold it, and so once again, all we have are our words, written over cyberspace and sent, to some mailbox that doesnt really exist, all this heady business but my words, yours, they have never felt so real. i have never meant anything more.

one of my closest friends finally has his beautiful baby and i havent met her yet but she looks so perfect, i get goosebumps even thinking about her, about being able to love someone so much, the idea of having that baby come into your life when for so long you have been waiting for her, is exhilarating. i cant even imagine what it feels like to hold her for the first time, to think, you are finally here.

today i walk around looking through plaza de armas, down merced and monijitas, one of my favorite parts of the city, it is so busy and bustling and smells of food and chatter and it seems that no one ever works because they are always outside of buildings, on steps, in the streets, smoking cigarettes, having coffee, eating completos with friends. there is always something happening here. the light by the fish market changes in early afternoon and it hits me, it is fall here, my whole internal clock is off. but the light, its unmistakable. the season is changing, as if i couldnt tell my the cold tiles in the morning when i get up out of bed. my roommates and i run around the house, trying to keep warm, piling on blankets and sweatshirts and non of us are prepared, i buy three pairs of knit socks for us for only 2 luka and think of you on every street corner, dream of you is more like it, and what it will be like to see you again, hopefully somewhere warm.

que rapido

i used to love the excuse
that were all just too
young and stupid
that our mistakes, our heartaches
our thoughtlessness could be blamed
on youth
maybe we didnt know any better
but im starting to feel old lately
and ive been told
im very bright
so i stop making excuses
on a wednesday
ive run all out

i thought you said
you believed in magic
how do I tell you
i love you
as much as i do without
it losing meaning
because every time i say it
i mean it more
is that possible?


you insisted you knew me, that
i knew you better
than anyone else
and its dangerous
i need a tour guide, a
map, ive never been down
these streets before
but im not scared, if
thats what you
think

we were just
young and dumb
she likes to say on sundays
when we close the curtains
and avoid eye contact
and only talk abut the things that
dont need to wait for monday, to
breathe, to get a little
distance, to forget
the sting

im not sure when i stopped
pretending
when this all shook me awake, midnight
isnt a bedtime
its a phonecall
across from my building
a cultural center is going up, designed
by the same designer
as de young
and so im never that far
from home
from you,
and never that far from
pretending

sweet inspiration

remember the lightning?
there was lightening, wasn't there?
blowing holes
in our
galaxy
you just sat by the
window smoking cigarettes
smelling like great
oaks, steady, skin like
eyelets, finger read me
like some war wounded soldier, some
black bound word filled
journal
yeah, yeah, what you said

i love boxed wine

you took me to a ghost town
with some of the oldest mummies
in the world
where we both shut up
and felt how
dead
everything was

this is not a flirtation, i remind him
youre just
hot for teacher
i hate what I've become, he says
put me out of my misery
and im all dreamy, loose fitting clothing
and summer shoes

my voice gets a
bit bubbly
with all his oceanography
talk, his
wolf howls
i made three sets of copies,
of reality,
when we need to be brought down

we hooked up last friday and
now
he gives golden
eyed ultimatums
"i will not write back to you
until you
swallow your pride"
that is how lazy people talk, i remind him
you watch too
much tv

check mate

he sleeps and
i wonder if
like some reverse sea tide
i'm going out and he's going in
I want to print out all the times he's
said i love you
and tape it where we met

captivated
church goer
i miss you like crazy
you think you've got me all
mapped out
next move, check mate, transcribe
this, baby
im so slick and
its only my
second time

you talked about your sunglasses
like a bagged lunch
and i knew wed never fall in love
well say "were over it"
at half moon bay
ill end up taking you to the donut shop
on your birthday
where youll apologize for being such a nice guy
and ill nod, understanding

i cant promise i wont write poems
to my daughter, to the
nurse who fed my IV
at the clinic, the dark
haired boy at the bar who had nothing
to be sorry for
but thats because ill write poems
about anything
im writing one about
you right now, while you
read these words
put your eyes back in your head
and
close your mouth

i am now accepting intern applications

we met over three years ago
(pause for escalated CHEER )
i: dreamer of thunder
you: jaguar love dance party
we might be an unlikely match
but im prepared to blow you
away
heres some relationship advice:
people are strange sometimes

I think of you like
clean beach bonfires, great
body of secrets
infatuation makes me (literally) sick
take a chance, stop
wishing for
a
third encore
we have a sold out show every night

its easy
for some pretty girl to show up
wearing flats and tights
or heels and good hair, whatever it is
that you like
but don't forget, that
pretty girl is just
bad art
eventually shes just wasted space
a flyer to the opening
i use to write
telephone numbers
movie times
addresses
and poetry

my first rain

its my first rain in santiago and im thinking about all my firsts here. my first empanada, my first piscola, first foods, first time saying hello and asking directions in spanish when i get off the plane and im freaking out and the adreneline and fear and sleep loss and missing you are all pumping through me, mixing into something like bravery, something new for me. ive never felt this brave. and other firsts, sleeping in a hostel alone, reading a map, taking the subway, and small things that were once so easy are difficult feats i attack, hungrily, in another language, nonetheless. my first apartment here, my first friends, my first night out, my first clothing purchase, my first full conversation with someone i dont know. and then more painful, more delicate firsts, the ones you dont tell everyone when they ask how you are, because when people ask that theres only a few things they want to hear. that question is such a set up. like the first time you sob, the first time you genuinely feel the loss of your family as you watch a mother smooth back her daughters hair on the subway, a father hold his childs hands, sisters sharing an ice cream in the plaza, the first time you get angry, jealous, bitter at people for having friends, lives, lovers, the first time you lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror, who are you, youre thinking, who are you, the first time, well not the first time, you question every single move you have made, every choice chosen or not, and wonder how you got here, how youll get out alive, if you are ready for all this, the first time you doubt yourself, really doubt that youre good enough, that you deserve all this, the first time you doubt the people you love, will they really wait for you, and not wait for you, but do they really love you like they say, will they really follow through. the first time you felt redemption, you trusted someone new because you had to, because whether you like it or not, you need people, you have to find new people to need, to rely on, because sometimes you cant do it alone. the first time i realize this it is earth shattering. i cant do this all by myself.
all these firsts, all this newness i was so afraid of is slipping under the rug, under my belt, im filing it all away, to remember in the future when all these firsts seem so far away. but right now i am still in them, my first rain, the most clothes ive worn here in santiago since my arrival a whole month ago, my first whole day spent writing, spent working, my first day where i feel like i have a schedule, a purpose, my first day where i actually think i am going to make it. i talk to my mom on the phone this morning and i dont even get choked up, not even as im writing this, id kill for a cigarette but i dont feel like crying. she says i really hope you can stick it out, and i cut her off, im going to be fine mom. i can do this. and my voice doesnt even shake, for the first time i believe myself when i say it out loud.
today i can breathe better, there arent pangs in my chest, my breath doesnt rattle on the way up. my eyes are clear instead of puffy despite hardly sleeping last night, sometimes my thoughts get the best of me. my brain goes on and on, stories form and lines of poetry make themselves behind my eyes and im finally listening to myself when this happens and getting out of bed and writing it down...because that shit, those words that keep me awake, that i say i will remember when i wake up and never do, are some of the best things ive ever thought, ever written, and so theres a first, im following instinct, im doing things that are hard, that dont make any sense, at the time, im listening to myself, to the core of myself. im finding out a lot about who that girl really is.
its terrifying to do it without you. horrifying. but i can talk about you now without gasping, without shutting down, i can talk about you now, i couldnt even form your name for days. i never would chose to be without you, i wake up and you are the first thing i think about, no matter where my dreams took me, i wake up, and its eye flutter, breathe, light, smell, reaching across the bed, you, you, you and then the rest of it tumbles around, hints of where i am and what time it is. but you, you, you are the first thought, with all these firsts i am realizing how hard it is to be without my best friend. and so these firsts, however painful, are proving to toughen me up. my head is filling with different things in the morning. for example, this morning i woke up a story, this morning i woke up with words, a line, and then you floated in some minutes after that first cat streach across the blankets. you will always be with me, jigsawed into my skin and deep, deep in my heart.
im telling my mom on the phone last night, i knew it would be hard, i just didnt think it would be this hard and this morning, when i wake up warm, and cared for and clear headed and i smell the air coming in from my open window, for a few small small seconds between thinking of you and that hazy where i am morning moment, it smells like california, like ocean beach, like first rain in golden gate park, like rain on your deck, like my apartment on irving, like rain in jackets, like my dogs wet fur, like home. and i am happy, happy walking down these beautiful cobblestone streets, recognizing people and smiling, first glances and first times. the other night the girls and i talk about our first kisses, and afton says, yeah but there are always first kisses, first kisses in new cities, first kisses on monday, first kisses after not seeing someone for a long time. and we are all silent for a few minutes, thinking, and i think about this city and falling in love, and how it felt for me, how it feels for me, how like falling in love, this city is confusing and overwhelming and hurried and scary and beautiful and the moments you begin to feel safe, to feel that love reciprocated are unforgettable, are firsts you remember forever.

uneven pavement

today i call my dad and can barely get through the secretary answering without crying. she asks who it is and i say gabrielle and even my name sounds different outside of my head. i feel like i havent spoke in days. i dont trust my voice, my thoughts, my hands. i can hardly hold a cup, two hands to hold the bottle to my lips as i lay sideways, watch episodes of sex and the city over and over and over until i fall into some sweaty lucid sleep, im still dreaming of san francisco, waking up dissapointed. i keep falling asleep hoping ill wake up somewhere else. ive never felt this way before.
and im addicted to the internet, the connection, the emotion i cant let go of, i dont forget about you as easily as you forget about me. i finally get myself to unpack today, close my eyes and do it as fast as i can, shove my suitcase on the top shelf of the closet and slam the door, kick my shoes around the room, rip the curtains off the wall, im pissed off more than sad, lonely and angry more than anything, ive started talking to myself, talking to inantimate objects as though they are people. i dont see any way out of this. no real way. i dont see anything here for me. its all bleak and upsetting and if my body´s any indication, this place is literally making me sick.
you think im being dramatic, that im not trying hard enough. and fuck, maybe youre right. maybe im being weak and dependent but ive never been those before so cut me a fucking break, give me a little space to be that. i dont know what else to do right now. all the streets are uneven, patches of dirt poke through and even though its april and people are expecting the weather to turn i still keep saying its hot, like a surprise and thank goodness, because all i brought is summer clothes, all my shoes are fucked up and i keep stubbing my toes and breaking nails and im just falling apart all over the place, this city doesnt agree with me.
at the newspaper everyone loves me and praises me and thinks im soooo funny and i smile for them and try to tell them stories about argentina and what i write for them is only half of what really happened, is only half of what i felt there, of what i feel now, that other half is secret, just for me, is locked up somewhere becuase im too afraid to look at it right now. too afraid that if i think about you anymore i will absolutely explode. so i keep smiling and when i leave i try to listen to music as i walk home but everything, no, really, everything reminds me of you and so i risk the noise of the city for fear of throwning up on the corner of what the fuck am i doing here and pull yourself together.