Wednesday, June 5, 2013



I'm sure I was shadow-stained from far away as I opened up my front door full of arrows. I hauled my bike up the stairs and the arrows kept flying. Fwunk, into banister, almost to bone. Another hits my messenger bag. One punctures my hamstring. By the time I get inside and see mirror I'm a porcupine. I drop the bag and helmet and get into bed. Abacus nudges my elbow--the sun shines and my head pounds in time to heartbeat. So I am one big drum. The urge to cry keeps washing over me and I fall asleep like that, diagonal on bed with my shoes still on.

I give myself close to forty minutes and then I get up and get on with it. Head still blaring. I make dinner, slowly, and it bleats on. I sauté garlic just to smell it.

This is what pain does. Puts a bounty on your head. Gives you space. Feeds you a rhythm. Denies gravity permission to hold you upright. It will also unlock certain things. A curiosity for resilience. Access to the white horrible heat that is excruciating pain. Is it a room, a planet? A sunken part of the floor? A place I can describe in writhing only.

No comments:

Post a Comment