
melting off the back porch
Have you ever felt the ground start to tilt, a signal of a moodiness coming? If it is to be compared to anything,
then compare it to a storm approaching–the kind you can watch roll right in and blow through trees one at a time. A
marching line of rustle and bending, a choreographed movement of prayer and submission–it’s a fight between eerie
and beautiful. I compare it to that, some approaching blues or sadness.
So I’ve been a little “off” this week, a loneliness I haven’t had the energy nor desire to fight. It’s okay. I enjoy feeling,
you know. Which is the irony of dealing with chronic pain and depression–life is learning a dance between relishing
and loathing this thing I crave called feeling. Today was the day that all preparation of approaching
sadness came to use, as I crashed and crashed hard. I’ve shuffled a worngroove from bed to couch to bed to couch to
bed again. I drifted off again and again and felt damn well delirious at one point, bouncing from dream to dream as if I
was simply looking through a stack of photographs. All of them were sadness. When awake I sat there with them
weighing on my body, a sort of sagging in the heart. This feels like the most of it–the storm has wandered offto the
left and I’m coming up like out of water.
A necessary day, but a wasted one nonetheless. I’m ready for so many things. I’m ready for a new week and a better
mood(less lonely, more focus), more writing–lately that’s all I want to do(I want to sink my life into a pot of ink–want
to be the feather end dipping in, the words coming out in beats of three and dripping wet. If not writing, then what?
Then nothing). I’m ready for more melting, the slow dip and climbing tease of temperature, more soon-coming spring.
Finished revolving around the release, as letting go is not a stagnant stage(and I cannot be slowly opening a palm
forever). It’s time to forward. Shake feathers dry. Be light.


