blue egg digital matter: a xicana easter post
I ate two crispy tacos ground beef tacos from a restaurant that I’ve been eating at for the past fifteen years. I ate the tacos without lettuce because I’m not a rabbit, and I’ve always hated the taste of it. I read a medical article about this once. I do believe that I’m a super taster.
I wrote at the teahouse down the street from my house, drinking pomegranate hibiscus. I wore a black skirt and cat eye sunglasses and ballerina flats. I felt like a chipster cliché, I’m cool with acknowledging this. In between key clicks and the slow sipping of tea, I watched my neighborhood walk by with honey colored dogs and bandannas like stripes around their necks. There were a lot of brown kids in dark denim shrouds with naked knees and curly hair like halos.
I had a micro dialogue with a Fresno poet who lives in LA, an ongoing conversation about a residency I’m thinking about skipping because I can’t bring myself to qualify to my family why I should spend 2,500 dollars to go to a writing workshop, but for now, my resolve is only blue egg digital matter.
I watched a short video on Facebook. My since high school friend, Mari, helped her daughter plant jelly beans in the ground and the jelly beans had grown into a million lollipops in the morning, sticking out of the ground like little shoots in the brown dirt mound and the patchy sea of green grass like a tiny universe.