Day 347 – weeds like trees; for love; for money

Saturday, August 13, 2011
Day 347
1:00 pm; 10:01 pm

weeds like trees

let the weeds
grow like trees

cracking through the
knuckles of the concrete

reminding us of the earth
that once breathed underneath



let the trees
grow like weeds

bulldozing lanes, lights and
sidewalks of every street

begging us to consider the
waves of chaos before we drown



(let us grow peace
like weeds)


for love

there is a rope fixed to the middle of ceiling of the
office closet

always waiting there to be a reminder

every now and a again, I go in with safety pins and
attach mementos

a playbill, a receipt to Suehiro’s, an old bag from the
fries I was holding during a first kiss

it’s redundant, old hat, a tad bit messy and completely

it sits there nonetheless and has become a character
in my house,

this structure, meant to be sanctuary, meditation
chamber, observatory and squad headquarters

the rope talks to me every time I walk in to attach
something new

stay silly, my friend…for this and only this, stay
completely insane

after every break up, there is a spell for which I want
to go in and rip everything off, burn it altogether

but the damn rope whips back and forth, knows how
to keep safe from my lone worst enemy

I stand there, cursing nostalgia and the human capacity
to contain happy memories

I wish to turn myself upside down, let the past come loose,
drip from my forehead and soil the carpet instead

the rope is cruel, laughs, mocks my current state of inner
boil, hands me a glass of water and tells me to sit

and my eyes become puffy, and snot dries up on my sleeve,
and the tears evaporate, eventually

it is to come back here, on another sunnier day, that I leave
it just the way it is, hanging, waiting for Love’s next move

for money


i hate you but
love you most when
you are around



Dear M,

You sadistic piece of shit, can you please leave me alone?
You know you know me so well, don’t you? You know you
have me all figured out. YOU KNOW. YOU KNOW!!

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you. I doodle your
face all over my schedule, like it’s gonna happen, like you’re
gonna make it when you say you will. When, really, you
“drop by” for a minute and then disappear for days, weeks,

And then you say it’s better this way! That we shouldn’t get
so attached. And in my right mind, I tell myself this makes
the perfect, best sense!

But it’s wrong. You’re wrong. You know it. You’re always
on my mind. I need you. And you know it. Sick.



(processing/getting ready to Schmoth)


About traciakemi

traci akemi kato-kiriyama - inter/multi-disciplinary theatre/performance artist, arts educator, cultural worker, community organizer. Tuesday Night Project; theatre, performance, writing, and teaching projects with many organizations and artists including: zero 3; Edge of The World for Asian Arts Initiative in Philadelphia and the National Asian American Theatre Festival in New York; "PULL" with Kennedy Kabasares in San Francisco; Nobuko Miyamoto and Great Leap Collaboratory I; TeAda; NCRR; Oymun's 11. Playwright for "Chasing Dad - a performance of a reading about a play i'm writing" presented by Inside the Ford for the Ford's Summer Playwright series. View all posts by traciakemi

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