Day 30: Gravity

Day 30, write a poem about something that repeats.

Gravity

Everyday

Comes with the dawn

With the alarm

With the sun

Peeking through

Curtains

My joints

Cracking

And creaking

Everyday

Comes with gravity

Heavy on

My eyelids

Day 29: Icarus

Day 29, do a freewrite on a noun from one of your favorite poems. The poem I chose is The Best Drink by Lee Upton.

Icarus

All poets write

a poem of Icarus.

Just like a basket

cannot carry fruit

when it’s full of holes,

his wings failed him,

feather and wax

melted by the sun

just as my pen

cannot carry my thoughts

many slip away

fall

die on the air.

My own wings of ink and paper

can only carry me so close

to the sun before they will char

and burn into flame

Before I, too, will fall

Into failure.

Day 28: Crazy Young Nights

Day 28, write a poem in skeltonic form.

Crazy Young Nights

We smoke tires
And light fires
Scream like liars
And drink for hire
We dance without pants
And eat fire ants
We sing our song
Party all night long
We travel fast
Our youth will last

Day 27: Chai in the Cafe

Day 27, writers often neglect sense of taste, so today's prompt is here to remedy that. Taste often brings back memories and also defines so many experiences.

Chai in the Café

The taste is in the time;

the sounds and swish

of bodies in a café.

The taste is in the heat

in the steamed milk

and the steeped tea.

The taste is in the smells

of baked scones and pies

warm ovens and soft bread.

The taste is in the touch

of your hand holding a mug,

bringing it to your lips,

to your hungry tongue;

cinnamon, clove, cardamom. 

Day 26: Headphone

Day 26, write a poem in the perspective of someone in the future that is looking at an object that we use in our current day and age.

Headphone

They hung them from their ears

Some small, others like large hats

Hung them and decorated

Their auditory senses with colors

And high definition sounds

Cords dangled from them

Hooked into their lifelines

Into voices and music

Into universal tones

All shaped into a thin

Plastic rectangle

Filled with electrical

Impulses

Scattered across

The mother of boards

That moved and sparked

Music up to their hungry ears

They listened to themselves

Speak and sing over and over

Voices repeating a generation.

Day 25: Quiet Distance

Day 25, write a poem that talks about a space, small distinct spaces.

Quiet Distance

You contain words

And hold them as long

As you keep them

In all your floor boards

Cherry stained

Dark red wine

And your stacks of books

You contain words

In your walls

And space within

Space within 

Space

You hold universes in your cubbies 

And wooden grooves

In the spaces that dust creates

The borders that book

Spines and objects create

You hold the spaces

Between words

And the spaces

Between

Each letter

And all the margins

That circle the ink

All of it is space

With a quiet distance.

Day 24: Marginalia

Day 25, write an ekprastic poem based off of the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. This was so much fun! I chose the following marginalia...

Marginalia

Laying eggs is not difficult

The same sensation as the trickling down of breast milk

Need and nurture

The sacrifice of body, soul and time

Not difficult to feel the urge

To gather nests about me

Lay and not be bothered by

The passage of time
It is not difficult as I stare at nothing

Warm in my red cape

Warm in my fatherless body

My breath rises and falls

I gather my insides

To offer up as golden offspring

My body bare for all to see

It is not difficult to stretch

What most cannot stretch

To tear over and over

The agony is all for you

My golden offspring

Day 23: Moon

Day 23, write an eleveny poem...

Moon

Works best

In the sky

Without clouds to obscure

Luminance 

Day 21: This is India

Day 21: Write a poem from something you overhear someone else says....

This is India

“This is India,” Twinkle said.

A catch all catch phrase.

No need for an introductory phase.

This is India,

She didn’t say with her arms wide;

She didn’t say with a sweeping gesture.

No. This is India.

Matter of fact and hands on hips,

Her black hair ragged and her brow drips.

Sweat so sweet from every pore

Until the body can dry no more.

This is India.

115 degrees and the sun keeps beating us down.

The Taj Mahal gleams, but it’s all sweat now.

This is India.

Week long weddings

And vermilion bindis.

And white tiles black with a blanket of flies

And mounds of garbage yea high.

This is India.

Dancing to the beat of the dohl,

In the street

With the rain showering us all,

Yelling, screaming, we’re alive!

With the heat and your dark eyes.

This is India.

Day 20: Ping Pong

For Day 20 of NaPoWriMo, I wrote a poem with sports word and I had to choose ping pong....

Ping Pong

Bent in a low crouch

Blade in my hand

Red and black

I

Ping pong

With pips

And rough

Rubber

I

Ping Pong

On and off

The ball falls

Flat, curves, spins

I

Ping pong

Shuffle

Attack

I

Ping pong

And whack;

The ball

Cracks

In half.

Day 19: First Human

Day 19 of NaPoWriMo and I have been tasked to write a creation myth. Don't know if that's what this is, but the prompt took me into an interesting place.

First Human

Someone threaded the first human

out of old carpet and recycled plastic

molded her into 10 fingers, 10 toes

injection mold without sink holes.

The carpet fiber was for her hair,

eyebrows, and eyelashes.

Her organs were 3D printed

out of hard, breakable plastic.

But the devil was in her details;

her finger tips held moon shapes

and her ears echoed ocean sounds.

Her nose could smell snow coming;

she just couldn’t see herself.

But she could feel her way to salvation;

She could bend if someone bent her.

She could speak if someone spoke for her.

She could pray when someone prayed for her.

But she could smell fear

All on her own.

Day 18: Lean Mean Veggie Queen

Another day of catchup! Trying to write a poem with made up words is harder than you'd think...

Lean Mean Veggie Queen

I traveled vegan and lean

Mean and weened

From the suckle of beef

Ate lentils and beans

Medley of veggies

I stuffed my mouth full

Of fiber and steamed greens

It was philosophical

In intention

But catastrophical

On my innards

Sudden health made me

Unhealthy

My body rejected and resented

Spasmodic and shivering

I contracted a healthful-fever

My temperature spiked

As my body broke down

All of these new green

Carbocomplexities

Brown rice and grapefruit

Sprouted grains and prunes,

I ate myself all of the way

Into the bathroom!

Day 17: Night Moments

Playing catch up for day 17. I posted day 16 directly on NaPoWriMo's comment section since it was a short poem. For Day 17, the prompt was to write a poem similar to a Nocturne (a poem set at night and melancholic)....

Night Moments

I glide into your mouth

Along with your cigarette

Smoke. The cylinder of white paper

And tobacco sucking

Your wet tongue

Dry with heat and cinder.

There are no peace pipes between us.

I want to cry the black night into stars,

Connect tears into our names,

The curves of our faces.

But no one will write us into the sky.

Our names and bodies

Masked and stifled by time,

No one will remember this moment,

Except you and I.

Only tears and your smoke,

In the air,

Impermanent,

Will signal the future

To come a little closer

And proceed.

Catch up Post: Day 15 NaPoWriMo

I'm playing catch up. Even though I hand wrote all of these poems the day of, over the weekend I didn't have a laptop to transfer them to my blog.

Here's my poem of in between for day 15 of NaPoWriMo.

Green Card

after we wrote with black ink

on each form

wrote out the check

notarized prints and copies

gathered leaves and leaves

of paper, bound them

together

after we packaged

and sent them

we waited

between uncertainty and doubt

between yes or no

between after and before

waited with our maybes

our fear and hope

prepared ourselves

to help with the waiting

busied ourselves

to pretend we did not wait

prepared ourselves

for giving up

prepared ourselves as if

our bodies both teetered

on the edge

of a canyon

we waited days and months

in the after and before

for status

authorization

for a stamp of approval

for a card

not green

but with a barcode

with your face

your name

your new

beginning

Day 12: Alliteration

Day 12: Alliteration

I'm getting to day 12 two days late, but alas I did write a poem!


wild water
woman
weeds the winter
wind
out of dawn
while
she whispers
grass
sounds into
summer
and sings
rain
clouds into
the sun

Day 14: Tweet and Trump

Day 14, write a four lime poem, a clerihew. A clerihew most often is used to write about a famous person in a funny way.

Tweet and Trump

Donald Trump
made a lot of promises
to "Make America Great Again,"
but now he just tweets and gets audited.

Day 13 of NaPoWriMo: Write a Ghazal

Day 13: I wrote a 7 line ghazal for today's NaPoWriMo prompt.

Her Night

Armies gather in the crossroads of her mind

As she tosses and turns, lying awake at night.

He lights a cigarette to calm the edges of his anger,

Counts how many women he can take at night.

Her body strangled by sweat and rigid dreams.

Her limbs wrapped in sheets and snakes at night.

He walks with his head down, bent against the rain

Wags his tongue at any woman that makes him ache at night.

Her eyes shutter open and watch the flash of traffic lights;

She lays silent and listens as her heart breaks at night.

He follows the click of her heals down the alleyway,

Slams her into the wall as she fights and shakes at the night.

She walks past me her face covered in pale tears.

I touch her hand and make the day break her night.

Day 11 of NaPoWriMo: Without a Compass

Day 11: Write a Bop Poem

A bop poem has the following stanza form, 6, 1, 8, 1, 6, 1. Each single line is a refrain, similar to a song and the long stanzas follow the rule of a sonnet. First stanza, introduce a problem, second stanza develops the problem or discusses, and the third stanza resolves the problem.

Without a Compass

Little boy will go right up to a car,

There his body will collide

Beg, bang the windshield, scream, cry;

he points at his mouth, only one direction;

he desires is food, food, food,

thin face, wide eyes, hungry dirty eyes.

His body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

He runs from feral dogs, barefoot

skinny legs pace the world tempo,

dodges bikes, cars, and everyone’s anger.

He makes his small body smaller,

hides under stoops and inside gutters;

he edges the town like a martyr.

Men and women shoo and hit

point at him, point him in another direction.

His body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

There is no direction where little boy

is welcome, north south east west;

welcome has no direction.

All the people smack and shake him

they run after him and chase him,

Throw rocks, point and laugh in his direction.

But his body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

Day 10 of NaPoWriMo: Write a portrait poem

Day 10 of NaPoWriMo: Write a portrait poem

Portrait

A line of oil lamps

flicker shadows

into the mouth

of the temple.

Outside the line of light

all is loud and dark,

full with heat and

cars honking deep

in the valley below.

Behind the water moat,

you stand by the line

of empty shoes

your feet fully clad in the

day’s time and soil.

Hands interlaced

cradle your black hair;

the space between your arms

sharp triangles of night.

Your eyes search

for answers

as the clouds cup

monsoon rains

and flood the air

with ozone and thunder.

From your mouth, not a whisper.

You look far away,

past this temple,

past its silent marble

that you will not walk on,

will not touch with naked feet.

Day 9 of NaPoWriMo: Into the Market

For today's prompt, I wrote a nine line poem...

Into the Market

Chili peppers, rose petals, heat

dust and trucks, sandals, heat

walnuts, guava, and mangos, heat

beggars and car horns, heat

saris and pyramids of dye, heat

tattered rupees, cumin, heat

dung, urine, and jasmine, heat

rickshaws, buses, engines rev, heat

clangs, shouts, and screams, heat

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Sky

Sky

I wrapped your clothes in sky

Sewed them with cloud

Mended their holes with

Thunder.

I wrapped your eyes in sky

Covered them with atmosphere

So you would only see your favorite

Color.

I wrapped your neck in sky

To hide the bruise and then

I fashioned a cloud necklace

Around you.

I cleaned your body in sky

Wrung the clouds like wet cloths,

Sponged off your old sorrow

Rinsed your creased brow

I tugged down the last of the sky

Brought it down around you

I wrapped your body in sky

Tucked it close to your skin

It made you so light that

The wind gathered you up

and you slipped out of my hands

and now you’re gone.

Gone.

Day 7 of NaPoWriMo: The Penny

The Penny

The penny was hers;

She dropped it here

In the gutter,

Next to the alleyway

Full of vomit, rust,

And wet cardboard;

This place where

even the bricks of the buildings

are worn and sad,

where she walked

In her laceless sneakers 

And tattered coat,

Pushing her shopping cart

Filled with black plastic bags.

She dropped her penny;

She did it on purpose

So I would find her story

Written on Lincoln's visage, 

So I could read her regrets

On the smudge

her thumb left behind,

So I could translate

Her dirt and grit

As if it were a language

Of smells, mumblings, and rhythm;

Convert it into a form

Where people would

Stop.

Listen.

Try to

Try to

Try to  

understand.

Day 6 of NaPoWriMo: The Cascade Mountains

Variations on a theme....

The Cascade Mountains

1.

You reflect the sunlight with your miles of snow, illuminating the valleys, rivers and hills.

2.

You are a silver halo under the moon; you used to be the earth's outer rings, but gravity dropped you to your knees.

3.

Your peaks like wings flutter into the great expanse of sky. You are the silent dove perched on the continental divide.

4.

Your silhouette is a sharp knife that cuts the night like fabric to reveal the morning.

5.

Your glaciers move like slow rivers, milky cold; the salmon greet you, their mouths open and close, open and close.

6.

You made the valley of the snow melt river, gave these cliffs waterfalls, these salmon water, these rivers momentum.

7.

The sun rises behind you like hot metal and blanches your body warm and red.

8.

I look East from the bridge and see you covered in a white sheet, wrapped tight across your face

9.

I can barely see you from the bridge now, the rain masks your image, blurs your sharp edges into curves.

10.

You are my most frequent dream. Your peaks like spindles sharp enough to draw my blood. Your snow melt runs in my blood.

11.
I look to the West to find you, but you are 3,000 miles away. I look atop hills and skyscrapers, but I cannot find you in the distance.

12.
I dream, you dream. I see you with my eyes closed; I can feel your weight pushing me, pushing me, pushing me home.

Day 5 of NaPoWriMo: Mary Oliver

I've always been an admirer of Mary Oliver...My nature poem...

Mesa

I heard red without seeing it,

directed my ear to the curve

of the cliff face as the sunrise

opened itself on its surface.

I heard it like a swarm of

honey bees in summer

as the night’s frost broke

into a cold pale dew.

Day 4 of NaPoWriMo: Enigma Poem

Day 4 of National Poetry Month: Write a poem about something without mentioning what it is.

Enigma: Guess what it is...

You can smell it like a storm coming,

can feel its electrons charge in your lungs;

dense and heavy like breathing steam.

And then you see it edge the horizon

like a dark mirage against the desert strata.

A man-made layer of sediment;

barbed wire and tall chain link.

Someone took a black marker

and drew with a zealot’s ink

a new definition of dreams deferred.

But your body is covered in sweat and desert;

you move like layers of sand, over and under.

You come out on the other side,

reborn, with your heart on fire.

Day 2 of NaPoWriMo: Recipe for Revenge

Day 2 of NaPoWriMo....recipe poem


Recipe for Revenge

Spit your spit

Into the pot

Just one spit

Back of your throat

Kind of spit

Greenest phlegm

Your head back

Like a stork

Swallowing

A whole fish

Your chest and arms

Your body shutters

To spit your spit

Your greenest innards

Into the pot

Then stir

Stir

And stir

Add the beef broth

All other ingredients

Ladle it into a bowl

And serve

To your boss

Day one of NaPoWriMo: Friction

Day one for NaPoWriMo.....A Kay Ryan-esque poem


Friction

wind

moves

against

the lake

makes ripples

with friction.

friction twists 

your hair into

impossible

knots

into nests

for birds.

friction

makes your

hair

like time

past

present

future

all

connected.

National Poetry Month

Spring is in the air and that means 11 more days until National Poetry Month! I will participate in NaPoWriMo for the whole month of April and will finish off the best month of the year at the Mass Poetry Festival in Salem, Mass, May 5th through the 7th. I attended last year and learned how to write a ghazal and got to work with some of the most inspiring northeast poets. Hope to see you writing and enjoying poetry all April long!

The Necklace

“Thailand was fantastic.” Phil gushed and Kate perked up to listen. He had talked so much already, it was amazing her ears hadn’t fallen off.

“You went to Thailand? Where?” It was hard to imagine him travelling anywhere outside the United States. Canada was even a stretch.

“BANG-kok, I saw so many beautiful places, beautiful women.”

“Um, ok.” Kate paused, playing with her silver necklace. “What did you eat while you were there?”

“Eat?” He looked stumped.

“Massaman Curry?” He shook his head. “Coconut rice?”

“I-I don’t know.” His brows met in one ridiculous line.

“Um, have you ever had Thai?”

“Of course, I have!”

Kate leaned back in her chair; he was lying and she didn’t like it, “I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“But I have!”

She caught her breath, “No, you read on my profile that I wanted to go. Do you think I’d sleep with you or something?” She pursed her lips, “I think you should leave.”

He guffawed, “So much work to get laid.”

Kate gripped the table until her knuckles turned white. Before she could say a word, poof, he disappeared.

Kate looked around at the people in the café, no one had noticed. No one ever did. It only happened in fight or flight situations, when she was emotionally charged, nervous, or angry. And only when she wore her necklace. Plus, no one ever got hurt; they ended up a couple miles away from where they disappeared, safe, but struck with a short-term amnesia.

Kate played with her necklace and realized Phil’s last words were similar to what her old prom date had said 10 years ago. She never forgot how Daniel had groped her butt; when she told him to stop, he had sneered, “It’s prom, isn’t it?” She had trusted him so much, she hadn’t brought her necklace with her, but after how cheap he made her feel, she swore to never take it off again. Since then, wearing the necklace was like an addiction. She knew it enabled her, but she couldn’t stop wearing it. She liked having an escape route.

She leaned back in her chair in a huff and checked her phone; 10:35. The guy said he’d be there at 10:30am. He was already five minutes late…

It was Kate’s friend Sam who concocted the idea of speed dating; she suggested to enforce a 30-minute time limit for each guy. Kate didn’t like it, but it was better than suffering through a full evening of awkward silences. And Kate didn’t have a lot of time to spend; she was a busy woman.

Sam helped her create an online profile and advised Kate to remain calm by visualizing each man as a food, instead of imagining naked, which would have only made Kate more nervous. Kate tried it out.

Phil reminded her of a grocery store donut. One that you scarf down as you drive to work and end up with a stomach ache shortly after consumption.

Kate tapped her nails on the table, what will Mr. 10:30 remind me of? She looked around the café; it bustled with clanging dishes, people talking, and chairs scraping on the cement floor. It smelled like coffee, baked bread, and warm bodies. In one of the glass cases, she spied a raspberry scone crusted with turbinado sugar. She licked her lips, but resisted. She didn’t need to eat her feelings right now.

She fiddled with her necklace and checked her phone again; when she looked up, she spied him outside, leaning against the brick wall, a rose in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He had used younger, thinner pictures of himself on his dating profile.

He looked to be in his forties, overweight with his belly hanging past his Def Leppard t-shirt. At first, she thought it couldn’t be him, but then he looked right at her and started walking into the café.

Shit.

She looked down at her phone, pretending to text. Her neck prickled; she smelled him before she saw him.

“Kate Finn?” She looked up was muted by horror; he looked like a sloppy joe, old chewed up beef and mystery sauce between a hamburger bun; a sloppy joe that smelled of stale sweat and weed. He reached to give her a “first date hug,” while Kate leaned as far away from him as possible. Just before he encircled her shoulders, he disappeared, leaving her with an aftertaste of his body odor.

She decided she would have the scone after all, and maybe scour her hands, face, possibly her whole body in the bathroom. She debated whether to just get up and leave; it was 10:55 and she had time to bail.

But before she could get up, Mr. 11:00 waltzed in five minutes too early. She couldn’t catch a break, but then she saw that his photos on his profile did not give him justice.

He was gorgeous like a French macaron. Or more accurately, a glass case full of French macarons all lined up and organized by color. She rarely could bring herself to buy macarons; she never wanted to bite into them and be responsible for ruining something beautiful.

“Kate?” She looked up into his clean-shaven face. She stood up suddenly, knocking her latte all over the table. “Oh, here.” He grappled the coffee mug before it fell.

“Oh, geez-um-sorry!” She fumbled and almost tripped over her chair and she felt like she lost something.

“Uh, here.” He caught her arm and helped her right herself. Just then, a barista came around with a wet cloth and mopped the spill up.

Mitchell complimented the barista, “Thanks that was a quick.”

Kate turned to Mitchell, “Um, I-I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem, I’m just glad you missed my face.”

Kate laughed nervously.

“Now we can officially meet. Mitchell Ganter.” He extended his hand and Kate shook it, his fingers and palm were rough and callused.

He leaned forward, “You like mochas?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, let me get you a new one.”

“Oh, you don’t have—”

“Nah, it’s a date, right? I’m honored. And it’s not every day you make a woman nervous enough to spill her coffee.” Kate felt her cheeks turn red.

He walked over to the counter while she stood by their table awkwardly, she decided to push herself and stand with him while they waited for the coffee. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

“So, you don’t make women spill their coffee often, just me?”

He smiled, “Only you so far, but one woman caught her heel in a grate and broke her shoe within five minutes of a date.” He pointed down at her shoes. “I like a practical woman.” Kate wore black flats with memory foam.

“Mitchell, large mocha and Americano.” The barista shouted out. They grabbed their coffees and made it over to their table.

He settled into his chair looking both nervous and comfortable. Everything about him was a beautiful contradiction. “So, what made you decide to go on a dating site?”

“Uh,” Kate decided the truth was the best option; she was too nervous to think of anything creative anyway. “My friend Sam forced me to make a profile. I don’t go out much, I-I work a lot and my weekends are today and Tuesday; I miss out on a lot of things.”

“No Friday night escapades around Portland?” Kate shook her head. “That’s too bad. Did you know that bad karaoke is essential to start a good weekend?” He took a sip of his coffee and looked at her in all seriousness.

“Uh, I didn’t know that. I’ve never been to a karaoke bar, it’s not really my thing.”

“You can’t know until you go.” He thought a while. “What about rock climbing? Have you ever done that?”

“Actually, yes, I have, but a really long time ago. I liked it.” She paused, “Is that what you do? Your hands are callused.”

“Yeah, I try to go every day. It’s a lot of fun and it keeps me focused. Um, you know, would you like to go with me some time?”

Kate got more nervous, Is he asking me on a second date? He likes me? “Oh, that sounds super cool, I would love to!” Kate got ahead of herself. Who says super cool except a thirteen-year-old from the 90s?

“So, you work a lot, only have Mondays and Tuesdays off, could never consider karaoke, but rock climbing is super cool. Now I’m curious, what job is worth giving up Fridays and Saturdays?”

Kate laughed, “You definitely cut to the point.” She fiddled with her necklace. “I’m a chef and I own my restaurant with my best friend Sam. She’s the head pastry chef and I’m the head cook. Technically, I work every day.”

“A chef? Wow! You wear practical shoes and you cook? I like you already.” Kate realized that he was the first man to ask her questions instead of talk about himself. She suddenly felt self-conscious, Am I talking about myself too much? She didn’t want to be that person.

“And you? What do you do?”

“I’m definitely not as cool as you. I push paper, organize paper, buy paper, and then I calculate numbers.”

“So…you—what would you call that, exactly?”

“Hmm, you really want to know?” Kate nodded. “They call me-well-an administrative assistant. Yes, before you say anything, I know what you’re thinking, I’m just as rare as a male nurse or a unicorn, right?”

Kate laughed. “That’s a coincidence.”

“What?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Sam and I, we’ve been looking for an admin to come in and help us. Actually, we’re interviewing some people today.”

Mitchell tilted his head, “Really? At your restaurant or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh, um, I work as an admin at a brewery right now, but I have an interview today at Milagro. It’s just a mile down Alberta Street.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Mitchell scrunched his eye brows together. “Um, are you the owner of Milagro? Really? Wow, your place is almost as famous as Salt & Straw or Voodoo Donuts.” Kate wanted to make herself small. “I heard the main chef—it must have been you—was on Iron Chef. Were you on it?”

Kate covered her face with her hands, completely humiliated. She never did well with people noticing her. “Um,” was all she could manage, she felt cornered even though he meant well, she got up all of a sudden. She knew she was getting close, so close to it happening. She didn’t want it to, not with him. “I-I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” He looked startled; his eyes widened. He appeared like he regretted mentioning anything.

“Wait—” But she bolted before he had a moment to say another word. She locked the door and leaned against the sink.

She took a deep breath. Then another and another. A lot of people had seen her on Iron Chef and she never liked the attention it had given her, it was great for the restaurant, but not good for her. She was a chef, not a celebrity. She felt bad leaving him there, but she didn’t want her emotions to get control of her and let the necklace do its thing. She didn’t want him to disappear; she wanted to keep talking to him.

She looked at herself in the mirror and then she realized her necklace wasn’t around her neck. Her hand went immediately to her throat as if it were there, but she just couldn’t see it. It wasn’t there.

She hadn’t been wearing it the whole time with him. She suddenly felt naked and exposed but also liberated. She had managed to have a decent and adult conversation without her security blanket. She was proud of herself, but then her fear started settling in. The date wasn’t over yet and she could screw it up or he could screw it up. Without her necklace, she didn’t have control, she would have to live each humiliating minute, if things took a turn for the worst. She stared at herself and could feel panic coming on.

She pointed at herself in the mirror, “You can do this.”

“You can do this.” She said with more momentum. “He’s a French macaron. You’ve made those, you’ve conquered those, beaten those egg whites. You can beat his egg whites. You kick ass in the kitchen, just make the world your kitchen.” Her voice crescendoed, “The world is my kitchen!” She took a heavy breath, rubbed her eyes, and adjusted her bra.

“Ok, yes, ok, let’s do this.” She walked out of the bathroom confident, standing tall, breasts forward. But her legs turned to rubber the closer she got to the table. He turned his gaze on her, looking worried. He looked ready to say something, but instead he stood up and must have stepped on something; he looked down to see what he had stepped on, bent down, and picked up Kate’s silver necklace. “Is this yours?”

Kate rushed forward. “Oh, that old thing? Yeah, it is.” She reached out to take it, but then she bee-lined for her purse sitting on the chair. “It must’ve fallen off, here you can put it in this.” She didn’t want to touch it, she refused to touch it. She knew her nerves would trigger it. He looked puzzled, but let the chain drop into the small pocket of her purse. “Thank you for finding it.”

“No problem,” He pursed his lips, anxious, and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you at all, that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Oh, it’s fine! I just-I just don’t know how to react when someone says things like that; I don’t deal with attention well.”

“I get it and it’s admirable. You’re just you.”

She let go of her breath, “Thank you.”

He smiled, “Well, I have to get ready for an interview; gotta dress to impress.”

Kate laughed, still feeling nervous, she grabbed her purse and held it to her chest. It was in there, close, but she didn’t need it, not with him. “It-it’s funny how-well- you’re a male admin who likes rock climbing, Americanos, and I’m interviewing you in two hours. Mitchell, I believe you’re rarer than a unicorn.”

“But, I do exist.” He gave her a parting hug and whispered in her ear, “But don’t worry, I won’t disappear.” Kate couldn’t help but smile.