March 8-14, 2004: C.A. Cross and C.C. Russell

C.A Cross and C.C Russell

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Bio (auto)

C.A Cross was born in Las Vegas, Nevada, in 1967 Since moving to Los Angeles, CA in 1990, she has explored almost everything she has wanted to She has several more experiences to go
She lives and dreams with a 6 year old within hearing distance of the ocean and tides of Hermosa Beach, CA
The following work is from my upcoming chapbook, “Nude”.

The following work is Copyright © 2004, and owned by C.A Cross and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Odors The smell of his neck, like fried bologna after a cigarette the t-shirt you inhale when your lover is gone the rain and the plains of Amarillo where prairie dogs dig up the dirt, where Cadillac’s are buried nose down That somber, quiet longing that soothed every summer with mosquito bites the size of half apples the pink of the calamine Aunt Mame’s Witch Hazel The paints, the wine, the grunge-capped teeth and the death of stale smoke on some mornings the dust from the wings of the crows who caw, caw, caw leaving me to wonder if they really are my guides The mold that creeps up to kiss me and lodges in my lungs the halitosis of a stranger, whose open mouth I can smell from across the hallway the friend at the airport whose scent stopped me mid-sentence, calling me back to his childhood room and later his home in New Mexico The sex that stays under your fingernails, the dryer air from next door, the smell of earth beaten from the rain, of snails, of oil-slicked asphalt, of your own sweat from another sleepless night. 9 Years I wanted to savor it so much, I breathed only through my mouth A sin of spices fell through me from your flesh That high, acrid smell of the Middle East made me claw your back and suck on your skin I wanted to fold into you, pull you on top and over me and have our bodies fit like a thousand years of struggle I wanted to drink you.  I couldn’t get you deep enough inside of me.  I grinded your pelvis into mine, forcing the rod of your body through me.  Enveloping you in flesh, like raw liver You said something in Turkish, and I imagined you were far away from bed When I opened my eyes, you said I had been dreaming and speaking in tongues. September 14 Those may trudge moan mad spray my dress white I scream and I eat tiny smears of the sea.

C.C Russell
c_c_russell@hotmail.com

Equivocation I am kissing Charity, shirtless, and in the dream, her name is pronounced ‘Chastity ‘ I spent hours trying to explain to you how these things can crush us with their similarities, their hope Outside, rain takes one more step towards turning to snow What we can say tonight at best: We are hours out, still, from the truth. P.M (dumbstruck) Had a moment – ends tied gracefully to means- slight cease to hostilities The side of another face filling the hollow of another empty palm, fingers irrelevant save for counting the hours left previously published in Soul Fountain, Vol 22 What She Said I am a girl I live by landmarks, not street names. Dona You on the crisp edge of bonfire in the summer of skinnydipping and freefall.