Author Archives: jesslyn delia
more chairs.
well it finally happened and i live alone. it took me a year but it happened. just me, and gunther of course. and king julien & mort, who survived yet another move and who have been noticeably upset with me … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
calendar.
this is the last night before i will finally live on my own. i’m leaving tomorrow. i have nothing to look back at. i never really do. i’ve taken everything apart and down over the past few days, but just … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
season.
this is how we remember ourselves three hundred days later exposed pipeline in dirt, a wrong turn. fresh as the holes where my eyes had been once, and were, yours on the nape of my neck with hands, in gananoque … Continue reading
Filed under poem tree
knowing.
(twelve years later) i just put the single most painful experience of my entire life into writing for the first time (ever). now i’m not so sure if it was really the sex, or the drugs, and i’m not sure … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
dear february.
dear february, i’m sorry for all the bad things i said to you and about you and behind your back. you are cold and cruel, but you are lovely also. you didn’t hurt me; i hurt myself & tried to … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
dawn.
a stampede broke the glasses we used for our seeing and drinking, and i was already drunk: my heart bled for a year. on the arm of my couch like it hadn’t your tongue melted mine with the lights from … Continue reading
Filed under poem tree
2011 memory scrapbook.
because it’s the first day of 2012 and everything, and because i’m spending my day in my bed in my blankets with the window open and with a cup of bottomless coffee and gunther for company, i thought i’d take … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
house.
there is a spoon in my house that isn’t really a spoon at all. it isn’t mine; it was just here when i moved in & probably belongs to my roommate. anyway the spoon is mostly flat. it still functions … Continue reading
Filed under monologue
afraid.
the thought of spiders used to scare me. i could never lean against stone walls, especially beneath porch lights. or the thought of serial rapists behind my shower curtain when i’d come home late from work, or not wearing a … Continue reading
weather.
an attraction less halted, more swept with the streets by the salt trucks he tells me it’s been a long year, thinned like the bottoms of socks we would fold on his bed, deflated like bellies emptied for summer, bites … Continue reading
Filed under poem tree
