trincessity tales

Here’s a lyric creative non-fic essay I wrote this quarter….

What I’ve needed to write is something about driving through the wind, my hair, my sun-burnt skin, the triangle of moles on my left wrist, the thick swallow over a hot dry tongue. It is about prayer. It is about waking up without a dream. What I’ve needed to say is something about the sticky juice of an apple running down my chin, and the airplane I saw painting the sky white, falling down towards the city. It is about the years I have forgotten. It is about how I wish I could hurt you.

I am my sister’s hamster, brown and white inside a ball, trying to find a way into the mirror. No matter how many times I run this plastic sphere into the glass, I won’t learn. Let me out—let me in.

I have never learned to speak. Read the rest of this entry »

An creative non-fiction essay I wrote for class.

Last night I dreamt I found it in my pocket. In the dream I was older and could fold origami. In the dream I stood suddenly still—looked down, noticed it nestled there like a little cat. It thrummed with a certain yellow glow just bright enough to shine through the pocket fabric. I almost reached down to touch it, but at the last moment dropped my hand.

I thought I should have found it when I moved into this house. I had a key in my pocket as proof. I felt so confidently sexy walking up the front steps that hot summer day, the red of my tank top spilling into the air around me and coloring everything I saw. This is the start of my life as I know it, I thought to myself, and laughed in a very mature way at everything Sarah said. I signed the lease with a flourish. Read the rest of this entry »

A short piece of not so fiction-y fiction I wrote for my creative writing class this quarter. :) Inspired by a memory I have, but changed up a bit.  Such as the names.  Hehe.  I’m not very good at coming up with totally new stories anymore.

I am pretending I can’t see him. In this field, we all stand together with the night falling down in every direction, the last glow of evening stretching our shadows out for miles across trampled corn stalks and into the woods where cars silently rust beneath a tangle of vines. We’ve been here together many times before, but stubbornly I turn my face to the left and watch a hawk dive from the dark blue sky and then swoop up again with a mouse dangling from his sharp curved beak.

None of us want to leave; we’ve been here since the sun was still hot on our shoulders, chasing each other through the trees until we were dizzy, or taking turns sliding down the steep incline of the gravel pit till we wore holes in our clothes and cut our bare feet. Our minds brim deliriously, deliciously, with the wet scent of blackberries, bumblebees, pollen, or green newborn shoots just barely disentangling themselves from the earth. Unyielding, the dirt beneath my toes feels clean and reassuringly familiar. Every hair stands up on my arms.

“We should all meet here again tomorrow,” his voice says, but still I don’t look. I don’t need to: I can see his face perfectly in my mind. Read the rest of this entry »