The truth is that after days and days of being surrounded by people/middle of the whirlwind, I feel scared and apprehensive about being alone(in solitude) again. I get used to voices and listening and answering and asking; the quiet can clock you on the head, make you pace, worry about the nonexistent, feel blue. There is absolutely nothing wrong with solitude and I adore it when I adore it but there are times when I loathe it…and the only way to reconcile is to go through it, to be in my own little world for a few minutes and be okay with that. This becomes even more difficult when you know the time is vital to the digestion of certain things.

I feel headachy and weird today–I need to catch up on my sleep. I did not sleep well over the past week and this includes last night–my stomach is a mess and I’ve had some bittersweet moments today. Like meeting two of my former coworkers for lunch, two women that I love and miss. I miss their company so much. My current job is fine and everything, but I have yet to connect with a person like that. A wonderful thing to see them, yet hard to feel the depth of absence.

On top of this I miss my family, of course. I miss hearing the babble of my niece in the morning. It’s hard for me to realize that she will not sound like that when I see her again. She’ll have more words, more sentences. I miss paling around with my dad. I still regret that the intensity of being together got to us at points.

And still, at the peak of this: tomorrow is the last day of 2008, and while a day is a day is a day, there remains something symbolic and different about the time and timing. Last year I watched the scale tip midnight ‘07 to ‘08 from New York City loft’s rooftop, in the middle of some party, surrounded by people and completely alone. Vacant. In terms of this year’s events and emotions, however, the memory stands as a constellation of burning rocks(so far away that from here they are stars).

So, perhaps I need to bring this full circle and center myself a bit(it seems that I am in need of it). This year has been beautiful, and it’s beautiful because of the people, the hearts, the conversations. The hardships. The stuff that builds us and breaks us. The moments that exemplify all of our questions. I suppose being alone tonight is appropriate, if only for the existence of this minute right now under my fingers. The quiet isn’t so overwhelming when I think of all the tremendous noise accumulated.

record high of 70
today in ohio
i’m tired
so more coffee
table talk over tilapia
the wind
the sky
a race to the water tower
my past
in the bellows
can hear it
nudging the windows
once returned
new clock
i’m already noticing
a difference.

threads
taut, slacked
everywhere
you & me as sisters we are
cans kept connected
electric string
i watch your face when you talk
you are a mother
and amazing
i watch your face and kind of remember
the childhood arguments
the teenage fits over fairness and issues of space
how i wanted nothing more than to be
something growing in your shadow
my sibling sun, casting one
how i miss you on the day to day
how when we find ourselves
in the same room
after so long i just start the spilltell
i can’t quit confessing
replaying memories
explaining what i like
trying to make you laugh
doing everything in my power to get that sound
out of you
to get you talking fast
observing your lean at the counter
face on hands, worrying
i say something about mom
you cut me off at the pass
the history on us, locked
for good
but now
is new
it isn’t until now
the realization
of needing you,
the very first bricklayer to my kindness
time will not take it
and you can bet
i will always listen with
my whole self turned towards you
so i can get everything
no beat missed, no word dropped
no expression passing glimpse
and the weight, my blood,
will always be shared.

It’s hard to think of ourselves as something important to something, to somebody else. Some people, that’s all they hope for, that’s all they want. Some people spend their living looking for the evidence, and it is like missing the lips to hunt a limb–right there, as certain as anything could ever be. You breathe, it matters. This extends. Mixes with others, feeds plants.

It’s hard to say what happens when we lose sight of what matters to hold staring contests with what doesn’t. Unattainable understanding? Tangled in a fishing net, caught finally in the life current–the littlest thing, the biggest tradition; certain defeats caught by your conquering meaning most? What is it we want from ourselves?

I write to try and understand it, to remind myself. I can unravel a thousand times in a day, but I’m still tied to something. I’m proud of that knot. I do not have a name for it; I can’t say why it’s there. Whatever tethers my heart in my chest, whatever keeps self tied to self, soul/flame/belly, precious instinct in gut. Whatever keeps me going.

Something will always bring it back. A phone call, a letter, a father, the right song/shitty weather combination–a mystery in rhythm, or the wrecking thereof. Something will take you to the bare sequence, force you to begin again there. Scrap paper and a leaky pen–get to it. It all falls under what the heart carries close, and if your heart is the kind that carries a lot, then it’s all about what you do not drop.

in elements.

there is the sweater in a closet
this is not worn
it is about the kept and keeping
not so much the wearing
some sleeves cannot wrap arms right
an article of attire,
never mentioned, not existing;

listen to certain songs and
practice eating shards of heart
the ones our mouths would rather talk to
cannot
work around the fissures, lip caught
process of plate, the tines of taking in now bent
on bruised bone;

how lovers of love dance
light in g, Am, street, wrists
better leave me here
in my element
receiving end of line to eye
pulling in the excess held in place
by one thigh, one instinct–
allowing hand to release one less comma
before i tell you what breaks my brain
what holds me still
what races rivers to chin
what walks me by the same place tonight
a similar collapse,
lung into lake
no sound/no hum/no splash

My feet are blocks of ice, on the move to unthaw. Slowly but surely. I spent a solid two minutes just peeling off my various layers–sweat and mud and a grin, for sure. Rob and I played some pick up soccer this morning. Thirty degrees and a sharp, constant wind. The field was just amazing–the sound and feel of a giant sponge made of mud and grass blade. So good, so messy. Suction cup replica sound when running. I love kicking the ball around. Scoring a goal, the perfect split pass to assist…things that feel good, and will always feel good. I love attacking, containing, hustling my ass off to block the shot at the very last second. A couple of us were sliding tackling for the hell of it–the ground begged for such behavior. Once you hit the ground the mud would carry you. The falling was pretty damn hilarious too.

In other news, the mouth is on the mend. Wisdom tooth extraction was a success, though the 2 days following were pretty miserable. Painkillers, however, turned me into a sweetiepie mushyhead, and there were a lot of “I love you’s” coming from my mouth. Playing soccer today was kind of my way to dive back into things full force.

I pick up the rental car on Tuesday and head to Ohio. I will be home for a week. Lots of little things to square away before then, but otherwise, I’m ready. Ready to get out of the city for a while. Ready to see the family and mentally/emotionally recharge myself on that exposure to energy. It’s just time to return for a while.

Writing. Writing and writing and writing. Writing to get back on stage. Writing to make sense of it, writing to remember. Flame twitching ready. And it feels so good.

Anthology work continues, and school starts next month. I’m taking one class to get the toes wet before jumping in completely. Excited and nervous. Most of all, this: ready. That word is everywhere at the moment. Some moments feel built purely for preparation, or waiting, or limbo. Some moments are simply about arrival. With everything on your back, in your head, in your chest. I’ve been thinking of particular bundle of lines from Buddy Wakefield’s poem, “Pretend:”

Pretend that you live for a living.
Pretend inside your skin
you’ve got a friend
who’s willing to give you everything you ever wanted
in exchange for all you’ve ever been.
Pretend you’re more obsessed with this moment
less with the way it ends.

the left side.

cerebral coasts,
the ocean flirts
with the toes of my
hands gathering
temples into pinched
little tundras against
the crab grass drift
of lashes.
the mouth
no longer mouth,
now trouble.
the drunk without drink,
liquid sand belly sift.
i cannot possibly
find the beautiful thing
i want so badly,
little claws gnawing
the bark of skin
picked off in slats,
surfboards for the dolls
moss crowning
the pillow cement
(a rock forms,
a crescent)
in the moondip,
a thought:
please die to the left.

where a sun is trying to bust the lip
(light born)

Surgery went well. I’m recovering. I’m in more pain today than I was yesterday, and it sucks. I hurt. I don’t feel like talking but I hate being alone. I’m lonely. I’m bored. I feel like everything is on pause until I’m better. I needed it done, and now it’s done but still. I’m a certain shade of miserable and only time and patience and taking care of myself will make it pass. That’s the nice part: it’ll pass. And oh how thankful I am to have such sweet people in my life to look after me.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say on the other side of this. Right now it’s just a blue ache.

It’s over! Tomorrow! All four wisdom teeth are taking a hike.

Patience. A few days of recovery, and I will return to update aplenty. Lots to say, lots on the mind lately. Soon.

My hometown, Middletown, Ohio, is in Forbes Magazine on the list of America’s Fastest dying towns.

10. Middletown, Ohio
Situated between Dayton and Cincinnati, Middletown has declined in step with much of Greater Ohio. The town’s median household income is $37,000, and its poverty level has jumped from 12% in 2000 to 22% in 2007. And it’s not likely to get better anytime soon. With only 12.2% of residents possessing bachelor’s degrees or better, the city isn’t a prime candidate to attract highly skilled jobs that have lifted some other post-industrial cities.

link to article