Private Yoga Instructor Santa Monica & Los Angeles Westside private yoga classes in-home or on-location Jennifer Pastiloff Contact Jennifer (310-926-0172) Yoga at home - comfort and convenience! |
The Collected Works of Jennifer Pastiloff ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Romance: A Fairy Tale: Part II: Conviction I’m looking to be saved. I chose you from among the masses. That April morning you walked into a restaurant, any clue you were up to this- this being a martyr, this being a saint? Something silently wild and molecular stirs in my where-the -stirring-starts place of me. I don’t know what to name this thing. What we call things, how we place them into capsules and seal them with sledgehammers before we salute them Goodbye! and rename them, this ever changing naming of a relationship. The seduction is this: we don’t know each other. Still, we’ve shaped the other into what is perfect. There under the covers, speaking lovely nasty things into a phone, 5,447 miles away, the perfect match is on the other end: spilled wine on the bedside, laundry on the floor. Souvenir matchbook from the Virginia trip when her whole family was still together with sunburns, her father, new cigarette in hand, four in ashtray. The photo so old you could still smoke at tables in restaurants in Bush Gardens. I want your words to hit me with weight, to knock me out cold. I want to write sentences that send people flying to the moon on "How did she get me to feel this?" I want words as accidental as a face you can’t look away from. Words you can’t stop repeating for fear you may never say them again once they leave your lips. I want what stays. As shocking as grass from stone I want to name this thing we’ve made up, this undeniable and arbitrary poison. I want you to wake me in the middle of the night with words that are sharks with no bones until I have something else to say. I am wordless right now. I’m back to bribing stones. I hold them in my palms and beg them to turn- to grow legs and hearts. This battle like all great battles- is a scrimmage of the heart, filled with bloodshed and that quiet breaking the heart knows so well. j pastiloff |
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