the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Category: writing (page 8 of 110)

French Stilletos

I’ve never made coffee in platform stilettos before. The French Connection pair I’m wearing are black velvet with pale pink bottoms. I stand close to six feet with them on. My legs are lean and long like the trunk of a young, growing tree. Oh, and speaking of French…

There’s a French painter in my bed. Since I live in a studio apartment, in a midtown east luxury building – the bed isn’t too far from the kitchen, where I’m preparing his espresso. Continue reading

Beginning Conclusion

Conclusion commençant

Je commencé étirement nouveau
Dans la cuisine, à l’étage.
Je commence à écrire dans différents
Encres de couleur . Violet… Or…
Je commencé à cuisiner des desserts
Parce que la vie avait un goût plus doux
Léchant des cuillères et tenant par la main.
Je brûlé… encens…
__________________Je commencé à regarder la lune.
__________________________________________Encore.

I started stretching again
In the kitchen, on the floor.
I started writing in different
Coloured inks. Purple… gold…
I started preparing dessert
Because life tasted sweeter
Licking spoons and holding hands.
I burnt… incense…
_________________I started watching the moon.
__________________________________________Again.

i’m still thinking in french…

Ma vision effacée. Tout à coup … voir;
Il était au-dessus de moi, déjà à l’intérieur.
Mon cœur a appris à refleurir. Ace de tasses.
Et le ciel est plus bleu, la lumière du soleil d’or.
Inspirez un moment, expirez toujours.
Nuits pleines d’étoiles après des années de l’obscurité –
Ne voyant pas la maladie jusqu’à ce que vous êtes mieux.
Il a enflammé mon âme, une étincelle de pinceau.
“Je suis juste derrière vous,” les premiers mots prononcés –
Tourner la tête à un regard aux chandelles.
Réparation amour comme il n’a jamais rompu.
Mon silence a commencé à parler d’une nouvelle façon.
Lorsque les feuilles engourdissement, puis vous revenez. Sentir…
Redéfinition de quelque chose qui est réel.

My vision cleared. To suddenly… look up;
He was above me, already inside.
My heart learned to bloom again. Ace of cups.
And the sky was more blue, golden sunlight.
Inhale one moment, exhale forever.
Nights full of stars after years of the dark –
Not seeing illness until you’re better.
He ignited my soul, a paintbrush spark.
“I’m right behind you,” the words first spoken –
Turning my head to a candlelit gaze.
Repairing love like it’s never broken.
My silence started speaking in new ways.
When numbness leaves, then you return. To feel…
Redefinition of something that’s real.

baby. i just…

To(o) Much

I turned. My
Head facing a…
Howl. Like
Slowed.
I
Stop(Ped). I rode
A window to(o)
Touch.
He put a…
(Pen in my hand)
(Octave in my…)
Breath. Do you
Know the rhythm.
I. Strike.
Everybody talks
About
How we wrote right
And left
Handed while
I walked. Pas(sed)t.
Baby…
… Slow. (Mmm)
Ocean.
I scribbled. A
Way. That prove:
To,
Much.

welcome (the world)

welcome (the world)

he introduced me
not knowing
there is no one i need
to know. and while
these women gossiped
and laughed and bantered
my lungs expanded
while my eyes closed.
they said: she’s an alcoholic.
she isn’t one
of us.
they spoke and spat
mouth running mischief.
when this happens –
protection shuts
me down. before i rise
i take time
to consider. to think
about the color of his e(yes)
and accent of his voice
and things he does
not say
while he was trying to know
me. i was
never. one of whatever.
i hope he pleases her
before me
because i am nothing
but one second
of time. that
does not exist.

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