Monday, December 24, 2012

It is Christmas Eve. I am currently in Ohio with my family for ten lovely days. And it is, indeed, lovely. I cannot explain what happens to my heart whenever I hear my nephew make his way through another round of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, or how happy I am to create imaginary worlds with my niece and her toys. They are such wonderful, amazing little people. The natural light of my lives. They pull a new amount of patience and love out of me, and I'll never be able to thank them properly for that.

I haven't been home in a few months so this is a much needed trip. My dad and I had lunch on my first day into town and I tried not to feel too sad about how grey his hair is or the lines in his face. I wonder if I look older/different too. I have no idea. I did my best not to think about it. I listened to everything he told me and asked questions, asked for updates on family members and so on. Time spent with him is time I value so very much. Same with my sister who works meticulously on various handmade presents at the table by lamplight. I love my little family. I feel calm and safe here.

And I also feel the echoes of solitude. I cannot help it. It's a holiday. Everyone near me seems to have someone to lean on. I lean o n the wall, I lean on my sleep. I lean on the quiet of a car ride in the dark. I am aware of how I came to this yet still wondering how things are this way. I feel like William H. Macy in Magnolia, listening to the same song, crying that I have so much love to give. Honestly I just think it's the holidays talking. Holidays n' hormones = a recipe for arsenic soup.

But like I said--I'm thrilled to be back in my hometown for a bit. I definitely have some dear ones to see, as well as physical places that I need to stand in front of. It's nice to see so many stars again, to have space and quiet and nowhere to be really. There is much writing to do and conversations to have, and none of that is loneliness. I have the weapons to fight off the blues. My quiver is full. I welcome the calm, the distance, the quiet and space that comes with being one. Despite being alone, I am still an entire universe spun around these bones and I have such lovely galaxies around me.

Monday, December 17, 2012

she was young
and you were you.
roads sewn together,
rumble strips interlocking
in gesture of prayer or pleading(depending on
which direction
one arrives from).

when there wasn't all that history.
inherited messes of double helix
turning in the dark,
grins of twin ladders
slick with trouble and light.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

so it goes.

There's a hole in the net. Trapeze bar is dangling and the chains talk together when they swing swing swing.

I had these plans and the plans fell through and after some crying and hitting a closed fist on my thigh in frustration I slept. And after sleeping I woke up the next day with swollen eyelids and I resolved to figure it out.

I'm figuring it out.

You know the saying: when it rains, it pours. Sometimes when it pours the drains overflow and leaves/garbage/unidentified masses of debris rise up and out--they go drifting whichever way the ground slopes. When the pouring stops the moving halts and you're left with things scattered and lumped. For a smoother ride you pick your way through. Or you bump over the bullshit and move on.

I'm dodging some, crushing others. Moving on.

I was preparing to move back home at the end of January. I even grabbed a second job for some extra cash. I accumulated boxes and, perhaps most important, I started gently separating my tentacles from this wonderful city. And then the floor fell in and I find that I'm here for another 6 months. All ready for my next chapter and it feels like I have to re-read the last half of this one. It is a bittersweet development.

Then a friend gets hit with some heavy, heavy shit and my heart rips off the linted up pieces of tape and chunks of it hit the ground like a chorus of tuning forks. Hum-tinging-hum. Life/tragedy/victory/new/yellowing/change it never stops. It doesn't wait for you or for me. Forget capacity of lung or how much a pair of arms can carry. It is simply sometimes too much.

In this moment I want to know what's next but I can already feel my hands shape around that inquiry's emptiness. It is not a decision to wait for. I drive my car. I write my words. I use the stove and go to work and hate falling asleep alone. I keep going, moving deliberate so the bees stay calm, so the hives on my shoulders aren't destroyed. Though sometimes I run as fast as I can just for the wind in my face, for the loss of my breath, for the repetitive sting and relief that comes with leaving prior burdens behind.

None of this was planned. But everthing is alright.