Frozen Shrimp

I am with a few people from high school and other people from Facebook, people I don't know well, but admire in subtle ways. We are all headed to a white ship in the mountains, journeying to a place we haven't been before. My friend and her lover hump in the one bed. I sleep in the bathtub and make phone calls to others letting them know how far away we are from our destination. Beckett is on my mind. She is with me, and not with me. I look for her. I call up my friend who works as a peace advocate and ask him what he'd like to eat for dinner. I tell him to take the shrimp out of the freezer. 

Pottery Barn

My sister and I are both working at a pottery barn over the holiday season. I'm in charge of displays, trees, lights, windows too. I'm not sure what she's in charge of, but we exchange ideas about reds and greens, and delicate versus heavy Christmas decor. I feel like I'm younger, 18 or so, a little lost in my ambitions or what I want them to be. I halfheartedly put ornaments on a tree, hang silk garland on the walls. There's a doll house on the ground with plastic characters. I think about cleaning it up, the alarm sounds. I'm awake.  

Snoop Dog

I'm having a conversation with snoop dog over the phone. We're talking about mundane things, laundry, pet food, washing dishes. Meanwhile there are small groups of people in black waiting for kisses. I approach them, pull one from the crowd and kiss them. When I do this the crowd gets bigger. One man's mouth tastes like sour cream and onion chips, another woman's mouth tastes like cherry cobbler. The crowd moves, disappears, then reappears as I move through the park, as I meander around while talking on the phone to Snoop Dog. I see Snoop Dog perched under a tree. I drop my phone and walk towards him. He smiles. Next to Snoop Dog the largest group of kissable people in black huddle in for lips. I choose a black man. We kiss, I feel sawdust in his mouth.  

They want something from us

Grandma Dot and Grandpa Ben pick us up in a shiny new Honda. We are running from a gang of white men and boys, the lost boys from the movie The Lost Boys. Some boys look like Kiefer Sutherland others look like Jason Patrick. They want something from us, photos of ourselves, photos printed on a white fedora, photos with catalog copy and price points. Grandma Dot wears a pair of black and white windowpane leggings and a mauve and black sweater. She has her hair done, she wears lipstick and isn't too skinny like she is now. She has all of her teeth. There's a glow to her skin. Grandpa Ben wears a red sweater vest over a white shirt, a pair of brown trousers. I sit in the back seat with grandpa Ben. I put the fedora from the picture on his head. He asks me where the hat was made. I look for the label and find too many. Grandpa Ben turns into an infant. He wears the same clothes. I morn the loss of his old body, the body I know, but I love the baby version of him and hold his tiny hands in my own. I look for Michael. He's in the trunk of the car, which is a little like an el Camino trunk. He rolls his eyes while holding onto a car seat.