#108 I hope this email finds you collapsing into laughter

(Poem in the video: In the Company of Women by January Gill O’Neil)

The Nook

Oct 16, 2022

Dearest,

I hope this email finds you lathering yourself in lavender.

I hope this email finds you increasing the radio volume playing Summer of 69.

I hope this email finds you collapsing into laughter.

I hope this email finds you shooing away flies from your bowl of cut-up apples.

I hope this email finds you pulling the comforter over your head.

I hope this email finds you leaning into a kiss.

I hope this email finds you using the word lollygagging.

I hope this email finds you licking the spatula after spreading blueberry jam on bread.

flowerchild_in

A post shared by Disha | Illustrations | Prints (@flowerchild_in)

I hope this email finds you taking off your earrings.

I hope this email finds you giving the last pizza slice to your brother.

I hope this email finds you unmuting yourself to speak up.

I hope this email finds you watching your pet sleep.

I hope this email finds you charging your vibrator.

I hope this email finds you knocking at the door of a life you have been arriving at for years.

I hope this email finds you defending your solitude.

flowerchild_in

A post shared by Disha | Illustrations | Prints (@flowerchild_in)

I hope this email finds you crying from pleasure.

I hope this email finds you drafting an email for me.

(I wrote this list poem in the last Femme_Fridays workshop. Many women from The Nook are coming to these workshops, and it has been a pleasure meeting you all, reading your words, and marveling at how beautiful your minds are. :) This poem I wrote was inspired by a Skyler Celeste poem by the same name.)

Some verses:

#1 Departure by Jennifer Huang

My father used to pick baby bok choy sprouts and place them in my
bowl. I don’t remember exactly when he stopped, but I miss those
dinners when grown-ups would fight to pay—sometimes pretending
to go to the bathroom but really grabbing the check. We would
choke down our food to get seconds though there was always plenty.
Slurping and clanking took place of conversation until the table
was left a wreck. My father and I would share what we called the
best parts of the fish—the cheeks and neck—and suck the meat from
the bones. He would cut a spoonful, place sweet-brothed ginger and
scallions atop, and tell me, Chew slowly and feel what you are eating.
Once, I realized a bone was stuck in my throat. The skeleton clawed
my speech—why didn’t I listen? My brother fed me vinegar-doused
rice. I took it, swallowed every bite and bit through acid nausea,
and gradually, from my throat it dissolved further, within, without
evidence.