Notes on Memory.
It’s the light, I think.
Golden sunset, going out with the biggest bang
like the kind that has you gasping, grasping
Baby…Baby
I’m thinking of your bare feet
posed just so
and Christmas at the beach
where we pretended at a future
and ignored the present,
already so frail
that to capture it on camera
would shatter it.
It wouldn’t be so bad,
except I see it every day,
that sunset I mean.
I see it, feel it,
let it bathe me like copper milk
holding back the bitter bite
of a fumbling exit
and a lost friend.
Checking in
Hi Hi everyone,
It’s been a while since I’ve posted here…Sorry about that. I’m working really hard on compiling a short story collection, and trying to get some of those published in magazines (more on that later). Please keep your ear to the ground, I promise i’ll have some exciting stuff too.
In the meantime, follow me on all that other social media:
Twitter:YesiPadilla
Instagram:YesiPadilla
Words with Friends (Seriously, I WILL RULE YOU): DressyYesi
Notes on Hunting (or The New Thing)
the first rule is
know your animal
but mine is an amorphous
thing.
legs thick and strong
crooked at the knees
like a hook
for a fish
i am drawn to the shape
of them, and its arms
reaching out
to find hips and lips
made slick by the
touch
of your
fingertips.
caged ribs
for a
flutter-by
heart
catched in its throat
suspended in glass
shards like
crystalline
memories -
a video
paused.
fast-forward to the present
and I am walking
no
running
no
away
no
to you
no
hold me
no
grab me
no and
I’m crying
‘cause I like it
no and
I’m crying
‘cause I miss you
and no.
I’m crying
‘cause I’m coming
but you’ve already left.
the first rule is
know
your
animal
otherwise
how will
you know
where to
point
your
gun?
Christmas dinner.
my cat, Chomsky.
I knew a woman who once lived in an apartment behind this house. Plucky and vivacious, she filled the space with light and color, and words and sound, her two kittens bounding about, adding punctuation to her never-ending sentence. I spent the summer riding my bike the in the heat to her home, just to be around her, drinking liquid dinners and contemplating the possibility that we were invincible. Riding home those nights, sun-streaked and drunk I marveled at myself. So this is what adulthood is. Not bad. I should have known from all my books that a thought like that was indicative of just how far from “adulthood” I actually was.
