substack
(p.s. drag me!!!!!)
I’m Her
This
is evidence
of my human being, like
look at this photo of an us.
I’m making a grimace
because she’s sticking out her tongue,
next to my ear, see. And here,
here is a box full of stuff. A necklace
my mother used to have as a girl,
and a solid string—it’s yarn. Yarn
from some estate sale that I
was present at. And if you sit
next to me you can feel my perspiration
and my desire to show you, see,
to show that I’m loved. And then maybe
you’ll love me, or love my palpable
desire and obviousness in wanting,
in asking for a, see, for
At twelve, I counted oysters in Riga
with the Baltics overflowing
into my belly. I felt so entirely full
of oysters and belly, and sea.
But then, in that photo, I’m just
twelve and in Riga, holding stomach.
I affected that space. I counted oysters.
Maybe some of them had never
been counted before, never been
assigned numbers. And the water
of the sea, see, it folded over
my ankles. And who can say
that they’ve folded water in that,
in that specific way, see, in the way
in which it circles calve and then
trickles down with simplicity, but also
with a tiredness, a tiredness
due to intrusion. And see
me there: I’m stagnant, but
affective. Hold the gloss
of the photo and see what I am
to the sea. I have definition,
and purpose. I have made people
question things. I am someone
who affects and influences, someone
who has photos as evidence of this,
someone who has manilla folders
of proof to convince you that I
was there, that I was an active part
of the there, that the there would not
even, in fact, be a there or an anywhere
if I had not been there
to comment on it.
of my human being, like
look at this photo of an us.
I’m making a grimace
because she’s sticking out her tongue,
next to my ear, see. And here,
here is a box full of stuff. A necklace
my mother used to have as a girl,
and a solid string—it’s yarn. Yarn
from some estate sale that I
was present at. And if you sit
next to me you can feel my perspiration
and my desire to show you, see,
to show that I’m loved. And then maybe
you’ll love me, or love my palpable
desire and obviousness in wanting,
in asking for a, see, for
At twelve, I counted oysters in Riga
with the Baltics overflowing
into my belly. I felt so entirely full
of oysters and belly, and sea.
But then, in that photo, I’m just
twelve and in Riga, holding stomach.
I affected that space. I counted oysters.
Maybe some of them had never
been counted before, never been
assigned numbers. And the water
of the sea, see, it folded over
my ankles. And who can say
that they’ve folded water in that,
in that specific way, see, in the way
in which it circles calve and then
trickles down with simplicity, but also
with a tiredness, a tiredness
due to intrusion. And see
me there: I’m stagnant, but
affective. Hold the gloss
of the photo and see what I am
to the sea. I have definition,
and purpose. I have made people
question things. I am someone
who affects and influences, someone
who has photos as evidence of this,
someone who has manilla folders
of proof to convince you that I
was there, that I was an active part
of the there, that the there would not
even, in fact, be a there or an anywhere
if I had not been there
to comment on it.