A Cat's Game

I draw close to you, my body shivering.
Your piercing eyes stare at me–
you blink;
one eye, then the other.
I don't move – I wait for your move.
You read me, then stand up and stretch...
but wait.
a draw? a tie? no.
You tip-toe to me, and bow your head
BONK! Meow!
Oh, I win.
A real cat's game.

Sunday Poems

Two poems.

St. Patrick's Day

Don't tell me I'm not special.
Don't tell me I'm not unique.
You don't even know me – it's not your right. It was never your right.




Time
Nothing is different, everything is the same.
But it's not.
That's odd. How did this happen? Where did we go?
The time machine, dammit. No, that's not right, either.

A Halloween Story–a story of my best friend

We were barely 8. I know you were 7, but maybe we were older, too.
We dressed up and our excitement propelled us– hopes of full bags of candy for months.
It was the first year we were allowed to go alone. Although, I think secretly your Mom followed us.
We had gone to the first few houses feeling okay. The further we got from home, the more exciting it became; pretty soon I did not recognize any of the houses.
Our bags began to feel heavy, I tried to pretend I could carry it. We would go to one more house.
We skipped up to the house and noticed a scarecrow in a chair. The crow had a pumpkin head, and in its lap was a bowl. Propped up against the scarecrow was a sign. "Please, only take one."
You laughed at him with a deep heartily laugh.
"Take one?! Come on, Liz! What were they thinking!?"
You reached in, with both arms like you were paddling a boat, to scoop up the candy that was so foolishly not protected. All of a sudden, the scarecrow jumped up and yelled, "ONLY ONE!"
You spilled your candy everywhere as you ran from that house.

No one likes my bangs, they're too long
No one likes my bangs, they're too long.

I like my bangs. They're too long.

An Evening




Words don't have meaning.
but they do.

The blurry lights blink incessantly,
my retina can't see it clearly.

I reach,
but instead
retract.

a smile that hurts,
deep breath.

an unfamiliar face
foreign to the touch...
but that's not true.

I really don't feel like writing anything.
My fingers hurt as I type.
But not physically.
It's like the pressing of the buttons sends a signal to my brain.
OW! OW! OW!

4 years of what?

It's been awhile since I have posted–almost half a year, actually. Well, that's okay. In 3 days I will be just another citizen in the world with a bachelor's degree in English, and a certificate in International Journalism. Whooptie-doo. But now I get to do what I love again. Sit at home, alone, and listen to music. Did I really need to go through 4 years of college for that? I guess so! I got to write an article I am really proud of for the CIJ program. It's graded, which always makes me nervous because writing is so subjective anyway. What I like, you might not like. And what some strange woman I barely know might not like what I write. But I hope so. I got to write about the cool music scene Minnesota has. I interviewed a few bands, and talked to someone at the Current, who used to work at City Pages. She is my hero. What she does it exactly what I want to do, so I feel like it actually is doable. 4 years of people telling me I couldn't do it, and I have met and actually talk to someone who does it. So, don't tell me what I cannot do, world. The article I wrote made me really appreciate the Current, too. I had always had mixed feelings about the station, but just the fact that we have a public media outlet that isn't just concerned with ratings and money is cool. I mean, they're not completely obvious to the money aspect of their endeavors, but they are a lot different than a commercial station. And, sometimes, I forget that. Minnesotans are lucky. Not just for the Current, but for MPR, too. I love Minnesota, and I think it did take 4 years of college to realize that. So, wow, Minnesota. We're pretty cool. Currently listening to the most random thing ever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuEOqzs76sE