Bleach reminds me of the Beach which reminds me of home which reminds me of you.

I've eaten the last of the swiss cheese.
The empty box is looking up at me with shiny plastic-rimmed eyes and saying
"you should probably exercise?"
Reverse psychology.

Its a terribly lonely thing when you start thinking of inanimate objects as conversationalists.

Oh well.
Today I destroyed the kitchen,
I own the most dishes and odds and ends
and people would rather use my things than their plastic bric-a-brac.

So there the sink was,
filled and overflowing
with what looks like
I-threw-a-party-with-all-my-own-dishes
coupled with the dead ants EVERYWHERE from the traps Lina and I bought and set up yesterday.
"Make your home, a place of refuge..."
for ants?
for dirty dishes?

I

THINK

NOT


It was therapeutic to put the wind to sensible work
drying every rag and towel I could lay my bleaching hands on.

I miss my mother.

She would be proud to know that I have no intention of living in a pig pen.
"This is a self-cleaning kitchen,
CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF"
was always somewhere in our kitchen at home.

Her birthday was yesterday.
Among other important occasions.

I love you mom.
I wish I could come home,
but instead I will have to gaze into the reflections of you
your parents
this weekend when I travel to star valley wyoming.

I'm bringing strawberry runners, so tell Afton to CLEAR OUT
some earth for me.

all you need is ______,
j