•April 14, 2014 • Leave a Comment
I was watching his back muscles move
Trying to figure out how he was a river and a boy
in the same space
Carving canyons, scars, rainpaths
and other crying shapes
We climbed up to the tallest cliff together
it took many days and many nights
until we reached the peak
It was the farthest we could go together
I curled my toes over the edge and felt the impossible gravity
The beautiful view,
While he ran, flew, over the edge – sparkling.
I could not follow him.
•May 11, 2013 • Leave a Comment
Last night I dreamt of a boy who wrote poetry on my back with a soft black marker.
I felt every word like electricity – I felt what each line meant.
Though I never read what he wrote because it was quickly smudged by hands and sweat.
That night we were covered in smears of his powerful words all over us.
Poetry on my elbows, words on his lips, ink in my heart.
•May 6, 2013 • Leave a Comment
I’ve been thinking about what super powers I want. I’ve got it down to three ~ so I guess I need a genie, rather than a magic spider.
1. The ability to see peoples feelings ~ like if everyone wore their feelings as feathers. Then I could know what people felt like, instead of what they looked like.
2. The ability to take photographs in my dreams, and have them be real and waiting for me in the the morning. Like the best Polaroid camera of all time. The dream camera.
3. I want to be able to eat the sky. Like take a spoonful of that colorful sunset, or nibble a bit of moon for a snack. And it the sun would warm me up from the inside if I was ever cold. So I would never need anything at all, so long as I was outside.
•April 5, 2013 • Leave a Comment
“You are so lucky. So very lucky. You get to take the things that hurt you, and you can put them inside a box and it will be beautiful.” -> What the spanish man said to me last night as I cried into the melted icecream.
•April 4, 2013 • Leave a Comment
Last night, I sat on the porch of El Mercado with a ponytailed old man who had known me for a long time even though I just met him that night. He played the spanish guitar. The song was an apology I had been waiting to hear.
“I can’t make music,” I said after he had finished singing. “I feel music very deeply, it dances me and I dance to it. But I have no idea where it comes from. If you gave me a tambourine nothing would happen. I hardly even hum. I think musicians must be wizards.”
“Oh but you do make music, Cori. My music is the space between the silences. Your music is the space between black and white. I have seen it. I have seen your photographs. I’ll be thinking of them for a very long time.”
•March 15, 2013 • Leave a Comment
Right now I’m a desert creature. I’ve been in Santa Fe for a while… longer than I ever expected…the ground must be made of treacle or spiderwebs for it has some magic stickiness to it that pulls me back every time I try to leave. It is indeed the land of enchantment/entrapment. But I have been doing the best things: I’ve been eating green chiles and scraping my elbows on canyon walls and sleeping in teepees beside wood stoves and candles and playing lots of hide and seek with very fun folks. All my bathing in the past two weeks has been out under the stars in big baths and hot springs. I’m squeezing the sadness out of people with hugs. And I’m dancing african dances with lots of drummers and eating waffles and mangos and finding old books in little ghost towns. I’m getting driven around in a white VW van named Lucy by a magician (who does the most magical tricks I’ve ever seen) and a clown. I’m building towers out of red stones. I’m wearing paint on my face. I’m ripping holes in my jeans. My hair is a mane of tangles. My shoulders are sunburnt and my back is sore. My spirits are high and there’s luck lining my shoes. I just found a dollar on the ground. I’m just listening to my whims and saying ‘yes’ to everyone and the adventure flows out perfectly.
•March 1, 2013 • Leave a Comment
We climbed up the mountain by the light of the full moon, our pockets filled with crystals, our socks filled with gems, a pearl in the pinkie of my glove. We arranged them into perfect shapes a top the mountain. Placing them in snow that froze around them. We left them there to fill up with moonlight. We found three little huts – one for each of us- made of twisted made of bristle cone pine, the most ancient tree in the forest. We we sat inside them and shared the bottle of tea that Jack had filled with osha, cinnamon, chicory, ginger and spicy sweet herbs with names I’d never heard before. He said the tea was called Fairy Dreamland.
When our fingers froze beyond freezing, to the point where they would’ve shattered if you touched them. We ran down the mountain through the ice and the mud. Our howls echoed through the whole valley and filled everyones dreams with wolves.