ROTISSERIE / RAIN / REFRESHMENT

I cherish moments

that feel repetitive

in the way things used to feel repetitive—

patterns that take me back

to times of blindly-followed childhood routine

and innocent friendship.

Moments that, aided by sheer coincidence,

prompt feelings of comfort and everlasting nostalgia.

This week, a group of my closest high school friends reunited to cook a delicious meal, chat about life, and play with my friend’s cat. It felt simple in a way many things haven’t lately.

The meal was fantastic.

We all collaborated to create a nutrient-dense, colorful summer feast.

This meal

REJUVINATED MEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Danny shredded up a rotisserie chicken that Cate got at Whole Foods.

I made a salad using heirloom tomatoes and Jersey corn that I brought from my workplace’s abundant produce section. I charred the corn kernels on the stove, chopped and salted the tomatoes, and mixed them with basil from Olivia’s garden, handfuls of arugula, beets, cucumbers, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper.

We also had some leftover rice on the side

to accompany the star of the show

which was the bean dish. Cate made some white beans and zucchini slices stewed in a special zucchini pesto sauce.

This meal combined with George Harrison strumming on the speakers? The ideal setting for a debriefing sesh.

I often get sappy

when eating with friends whom I see

infrequently

or talking to friends whom I see

infrequently.

It’s hard not to think about,

in the same moment soon-to-be-nostalgized,

how much time it will take before you get to see them again.

On that note…

and, last week, it rained a lot in Brooklyn.

On a random Monday night during my weekly writing group (BWWG :))) ), I sat

staring out of the big Nook windows,

entranced by vibrating puddles,

and I chose to let the showers inspire my writing.

It rains a lot in England

and, last year, I lived there.

I lived there with some of my very best friends,

and in the way shared meals can transport me home,

so can the rain.

Below is the draft that emerged from the writing group last week. It is in no way a finished product, but it’s a solid work in progress. There are things to add and things to change, but I landed here after about an hour of writing.

GERALD ROAD
long hairs,
three colors,
trapped,
entangled in the brushes
of a vacuum we broke.
we broke three
vacuums
in two
years
strays from three scalps
scattered themselves
onto the corkscrew carpet
and bedsheets
fresh from the
clanking
machine.
they could clone me
from the DNA
I left
on Gerald Road.
they could clone
my best friends, too.
I hope they never
stop finding
our hairs
on the floor.
friends,
the rain
reminds me of you –
not only because
rain is the tint of
England,
but because Ella is thunder
and Millie is lightning,
and, alone,
my cloud
seldom storms.
you both sipped a cuppa
this morning at eight
while I was up crying
a drizzle at three.
I never assumed
I would long for the whines of
our lonely feline neighbors
or for switches on my outlets
or for chocolate HobNobs.
It never occurred to me
that coming back home
would mean leaving home
all over again.
if they clone me
from the DNA
I left
on Gerald Road,
I hope they let her stay there.
I hope they give her a
nail clipper
and let her scatter the shards.
a hair clipper,
and let her shed.

On that note…

When the summer gets too slow

and you feel alone,

or the summer gets too fast

and you lose yourself,

it’s hard to love

the summer at all.

When the summer gets too hot

or too overwhelming

or reflective

and you feel yourself pushing away—

pull yourself out.

Pull yourself into the waves,

or into a bath,

or drink a sip.

Coat yourself in ice,

plug in the fan,

purse your lips,

and blow out slow.

Circulate the air

that surrounds your face,

fan yourself,

and spread your toes.

Once you melt

and the summer starts to steam,

refreeze.

Massage your solidified muscles

and cushion your bones.

You are nothing but ice.

Draft a story,

draft a poem,

draft a recipe,

draft a text.

Tell that person all the things you wish you told them

last summer,

last week,

last time.

Pull yourself into the present,

sink yourself into the sea.

Soft tofu with soy sauce

ICE WATER!!!

The NYC Poetry Festival. Go next year! Shout out PSNY!

BIG BROTHER IS BACK!!!! Everyone get on season 27. It’s only week 2! You can catch up!

Colors matching in many different parts of an outfit.