darling nikki by prince was the song that helped me sort out my sexuality.

Today a bird nest fell on my fire escape. It was not brown or twiggy or shaped like a wreath or cup or abalone shell. It was a fluffy tuft of blue and red strings, hair, street detritus, crumbling magnolia leaves. A sparrow hopped around it thinking of what to do. The bird was too small and the nest too heavy to retrieve it and return it to its post in the tree above. Soon, a bigger bird came and pecked it through the metal grating, to the sidewalk below. There, the neighor’s pitbull sniffed it and barked and then his owner dragged him away, calling him a bitch, a dumbass, a trash-smelling dipshit.

sally nixon (sally nixon)

I remember deep blue skies. They’re always that shade around my father’s birthday.

I remember after he’d tuck me in bed at night I’d demand he stay. I’d clutch his arm, sure that if he left I’d wake. He would face the ceiling and mumble under his breath. The words sounded like curses, like whisper spits, like he was calling me confounding names in his sleep. Years after I found out he had been reciting lesson plans in Chinese, going over lines of Ming-Qing poems and ancient phrases written in characters that looked to me like brick buildings falling apart, broken insects, and people.

b; (c) Bridgeman; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

(john bratsby, jew chew honeydew”

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