she's a beauty, ain't she? funny how much more spectacular she shines when hidden away...the first blush is enchanting but when she turns her back to you then glances unaware, then and only then do you know the meaning of her smile -- like being caught in the most tentative spring rain, and wishing it would downpour

look at her. look at her again. she's like a rainbow slick on a wet chill interstate. she's got thin-veined nebula trapped in her unruly hair. look at her -- she's the origin of the universe. she will wake you with secret kisses and linger unabashedly in your daydreams. just look...but not directly. you must be sly, and generous, and ready -- you might go blind, branded with only a cool blue memory -- but if you close your eyes and wait, she will shake the sky and come back to you
05/10/94

I COULD NEVER WORK AT THE GAP

I could never work at the Gap: can't fold clothes properly. I've tried and tried, for my own edification, to do things right -- to smooth and tuck, to square and flatten. Guess I like to hang loose. Not a fixer, not a righter of wrongs. The trip to the laundry room is always full of fear. An ending and a beginning. Embracing the waiting time, the solitude and the certainty that there is a task to be done and that you can do it best by leaving it alone -- no tempting peeks into the heart of the spin cycle. Everything has a time and place: detergent. Fabric softener. Dryer sheet. A nice sort of sameness that will never be duplicated in real life. And still -- the excitement of it all. Surreptitious glances at other denizens of laundryland, existing in their own private worlds, minding the time on their own machines. A common purpose fulfilled without any infringement upon the lives of others. Now, that's heaven. That's love. I am allowed to fold poorly, to mix my darks and lights, to be delicate instead of permanent press. I am allowed to mind my own heap of laundry, and to do what I can to keep it smelling sweet.
04/23/95