On sushi, sorrow, being late to the party. (#1/2)

NaPoWriMo Early Bird #1/2- wishes in the style of Natalie Eilbert

are joylessly eating sushi alone in the middle of your kitchen
having come to the conclusion during a riff twinkling from ‘The Royal Scam’
that it cannot be reconciled,
together, and apart.

are slowly arriving at the realization that a bowl has broken,
it is disturbing to see the two halves still so neatly cradled together,
and it goes back under the sink,
it is too late when you hear the crack,
You have no glue.

imagine a Haitian divorce in Chilpacingo in the middle of a bite of rotten avocado,
its bitter taste rolls over your tongue, a sour remainder lodged
in the back of your molars,
numbered 31 and 32.

know there is no remedy for this,
no salt to mitigate blandness, no milk to make it moist,
there is not enough water in the world to render this palatable,
it is too late for a roux or a poultice,
it is boiling over, so you watch it cook from the chair at the end of the table.


On Puppy.

The dog mask was first spotted at a bar in California, a down and dirty, kind leather bar where the drinks flowed and we sat outside on the concrete truck loading docks of abandoned factories and drove home at 2AM. The mask belonged to our bartender and he offered to let me try it on. People came to me and pet my head, they did not read my emotions and said, “You are a cute dog,” and in the only photo of the night, I am smiling beneath this mask.

By my birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so Red bought me a similar one and gave it to me early. I wore it all day. The nose protrudes from the face comically, it pokes into business, it smiles even if I’m not. We haven’t used it for kink because its purpose has changed into something cathartic- Puppy. Puppy is gentle. Puppy attracts and scares cats, Puppy is a mixed breed of some sort, white with grey flecked fur, floppy brown ears and kind eyes. I’m not sure. Puppy is anxious and nervous and if Puppy had a tail, would likely gnaw at it or at least try to catch it in his mouth. Puppy wears a collar, but not in the ritualistic, bullshitted sense. Puppy’s head is secured and his mind is clear. Puppy talks because he is not worried about having emotions be seen. There are no other emotions that his face can show, and that makes him feel safe.

He is a good dog.

Puppy has interviewed over the phone for Fortune 500 companies, Puppy has appeared in many a discussion about emotion, anxiety, relationships, sex, and scheduling. Puppy has lingered over morning coffee or sat in bed, breathing heavily until the world stops spinning. Puppy is not a pup, or a furry, or a persona, Puppy is a little bit of magical, benevolent id that curtails my emotional trainwrecks by simply bringing the world back to an instinctual level. Puppy breathes. There’s no masochism to it, although it serves an important role in kink because of this pleasure principle-driven instinct, I believe. Puppy is what keeps me safe, Puppy is what guards my cheeks and lets me check my teeth.

Puppy can see your sadness, but will not reveal his tears.

I am eager for the day when I can unlock that collar and let him out, watch him run, and show you that I can cry.