Week in Seven Words #73

arisen
One of the best ways to be woken up early is by a phone call from someone who missed hearing your voice.

atypical
An inflatable bouncing castle has been set up outside of a bar, where the happy hour crowd is deep in mixed drinks and beer. People jump around inside the castle while on the sidewalk two entertainers dressed up as Nemo the clownfish and Elmo throw down some dance moves to hip-hop.

lampyridae
My mind feels like a firefly in a jar this afternoon, glowing, tapping against the glass.

soliloquy
In a bricked-off courtyard with bare metal chairs and tables, a fountain gurgles, staving off the silence.

sonority
When the trolley groans to a halt it makes a noise like a desert horn unearthed from sand and sounded for the first time in centuries.

surveillance
The squirrel sits up on the deserted porch, a peanut sticking out of its mouth as it monitors the sidewalk.

uncorked
A timely phone call and conversation, where he reminds me not to keep things bottled up. A couple of days later he emails me a reminder that I can tape up to the wall above my desk.

Week in Seven Words #71

apathy
I get the feeling that we both don't want to be there. He's tuned out, so am I, and mostly we're going through the motions. I try to care but only feel tired.

forelimbs
Silhouetted against a glass door, he offers up a four-armed embrace. Or maybe he's just sweeping his arms open wide as if to say, "Look around! Walk the crazy corridors of my mind." He's asymmetrical; on one side of his body he has one arm, on the other side three. He's also completely nude.

mosaic
Wide-eyed in Isaiah Zagar's Magic Gardens: a small dense maze of mosaic faces, walls of bottles, bicycles, and random statuary, lettered tiles, colored tiles, flowers and lively figurines, stairs that spill down into lemon, pink and emerald grottos. My reflection is a starburst on mirror shards.

murals
It's been recommended to me to take a walking tour of the Philadelphia murals, but so far I've resisted. I like coming across them by chance. Turning a corner I face a small parking lot bound by chain link fencing, and above it blooms a beautiful mural of dancers, magicians, and enchanted flute players.

prose
Long and languid afternoons spent reading.

reflective
Night, lamplight, a text open on my lap.

yearning
For dreams half-tended and hopes half-fed.

Week in Seven Words #52

ambuscade
I feel a little unwell at the beginning of the week, but it passes, and I let down my guard. As it turns out, the microscopic fiends that made a scouting mission through my innards have retreated only to regroup, bring in reinforcements, and launch a surprise attack.

bracing
The outside world is crunchy. The streets crackle with ice, the snow on the curb crumbles to a fine powder on the sidewalk. The air has a clean healthy bite to it.

moment
When I get to the room, no one is there. I'm glad I decide to stay. Had I chosen to leave right then and there, instead of bobbing around by the door in a state of indetermination, I would have missed out on an interesting hour of learning.

pomaceous
Apple juice, plain and sweet, waiting in a glass bottle at the bottom of the grocery bag.

stilts
I'm running a fever and need to walk across the room. My head is somewhere near the ceiling, and I'm not sure if my feet are touching the ground.

stupor
T.V. is suddenly interesting. My patience for commercials seems limitless. Look at that shiny clean pan, that washer and dryer set, that lovely meteorologist swooping around in front of a map with low frozen numbers on it. As long as I don't have to peel myself off the couch and fall back into bed I'm good. Just let me stay here for a while.

sustaining
I'm so thankful she's here. She makes a weak tea that I can keep down. She goes out into the slippery unplowed world to get some necessities from the convenience store. She tells me I'm certifiably insane for thinking that I can go to class in my condition. She makes excellent plain white rice and chicken broth. When I'm at my lowest point she's there.

Week in Seven Words #7

buttery
A low-slung yellow moon. Daffodils in early evening light. The scent of hot buttered pretzels from the shop I walk past nearly every day.

haphazard
I had some sort of plan for the afternoon, but it gently derailed - I forget an address that I'm supposed to remember, confuse one building with another, sit in the cool shade beside two old men eating ice cream, spot a friend playing frisbee, listen to him then argue with another friend about love and sex and the meaning of it all (while the ice-cream eating men look on in amusement), hear an interesting talk signed by a deaf man (and spoken by an interpreter), and watch the sunset while sampling two flavors of lollipops.

impromptu
A last minute suggestion leads to a one-day trip. It's full of work, study, and difficult concepts to follow and grasp, but there's also that hour in the early afternoon spent taking a walk with someone I barely know (but get to know better), out in the sunny streets with the unpredictable architecture, and a small square (not green yet, but starting to show signs of green) where an outdoor band plays brassy music for an appreciative audience of passers-by.

nourishment
She goes out of her way to meet up with me; she brings me a homemade chicken sandwich and slices of orange. It's the first real meal I've had that day, and my headache starts to recede.

parallel
When he asks me if I'm paying attention to the conversation or just watching the birds battle it out over a scrap of food in the shrubs, I can honestly tell him that I'm doing both.

raisins
I find myself in possession of several boxes of raisins. And I do like raisins. They go on my oatmeal, in my yogurt, among chopped up fruits or salad greens, and embedded in my rice pudding.

unknot
On the other end of the phone he's scratching his head just like I'm scratching mine. And just by sitting and talking out the problem slowly and being befuddled together, we start to untangle some of it; we begin to pull apart the strands of this quandary.