the rich soil of my indignation; the reticence of the new world spinning forward – the force of electricity through my skin – back through underground tunnels from my heart to yours — the burrowing promises / hide in the soil / friendship lingering around the sound of a couple of decades; over the Long island sound ; over the sunset peeking over the top of the horizon ; the waves lap against the side of this promise House // two intertwined in the promised Land. And now the flash of my everything – purple flower days unraveling like so much September light getting light at the edges ;; fringes turning foggy , Gray good morning dew hustling back the old season and clamoring towards the coldness we all await // the colors receding like so many promises let go
Upstate;; and the air turns crisp and crinkled at the edges; the hills turn green on their backs – roll over to the blue side – tumble through the cascading hillsides ;; we race the road to where the yellow line meets the side of the endless fog racing down the mountainside // Vermont air mapled and sunning itself on the backside of what is already fall ;; laughter echoes in the alleyway/ love shines on the dashboard / the twist of romance pulls moments out of the sky // fistfuls of hands pulling air out of the sky ; pulling air out of the rustic barn – steel rusting on the side // the towns that sprinkle themselves out like so much confetti on the twisting roadway / the quaintest sites you’ll ever see ; and the mist gathering around the endless endless boughs of tree trunks and pine needles fresh pressing in to the fistfuls of air // Woodstock splattered like a paint can ; humbled like a reverie;; a little utopian world sitting on the precipice of a mountaintop ; the brightly-coloured remnants of the Peace we all parceled out for one another – the peace we traded in for shiny things and plastic things and garbled rings and fumbled rhymes of another time for the aesthetic of retro or vintage that we want cling to for the peace we need ;; for the piece of the peace between our fingers – we find it again ; always ;always in the echo of the fistful of air today , swirling , who is cascading the hills through this fog? lifts , drifting , drifting apprentice , painting its own melodies across the hillsides :: across the hillsides, the fog lifts me and I let it
we barrel down the little avenue we live on ;; across the old stoney bridge ; across the canal ; the walk is just two blocks but today it feels like an eternity // the golden 8 a.m. morning light splashes through the still-summer trees // we trip along together at a clip ; being positive ; being brave, the both of us ;; I turn my face every time it scrunches up into tears and try to hollow my voice anytime it sounds shaky or gravely ;; I tell him he’s going to have so much fun. You lurch when I let go of your hand to take a picture; holding it out desperately; like a prayer for me to clasp back on. Suddenly, the big yellow cat of a bus pounces next to us on the sidewalk ;; the moment is brisk : the line is filing : the older children are ready. You are the last one on;; your eyes filled with a mixture of awe, excitement, sheer terror and absolute love. You hold on to my index finger until the last possible moment ;; until you’re almost ascending the second bus step; you climb; hurdle; tumble over yourself with the weight of your backpack // you walk halfway down the rows of bus seats until the red-haired mop of a fellow kindergartener in the front calls at you to ask you to sit with him ;; i watch you turn around and hurry towards the front ;; the bus lurches forward like a monster and peels away into the golden morning light; instantaneously; [it happens in about 45 seconds] and my heart is broken at the fault line / I can’t stand the feeling of without you. I pedal around the house / I feel the absence of you everywhere // I have loved all the endless arrays of 45 seconds laid on top of one another that I have gotten to share with you // I have loved the moments that have brought us to this day // I have loved the last 5 years / I try not to cry in front of the other parents / I try not to cry all day / I know you will be okay. I am so grateful that I get to be your mom.
The summer escaped through my fingertips like honey-ed sunflower-seed wine // your little hair gets filled with light — gets filled with knots — and all the afternoons I got to roll dice with you and move trolls across board game boards are worth more to me than anything else I could ever accomplish. I need nothing else. Nothing else makes as much sense as spending time with you. Thanks for the last 5 years.
I hope my friends are okay. I hope the midmorning light finds you in the presence of sweet breezes. I hope you find the moon light on the eyelashes of your skin and it reminds you that you’re whole. I hope you are not afraid of the dawning of the new light. I hope you know there are mornings to be met, in whatever new eyes you have to see. I hope you greet the side of the mountain, see it’s height, and know that you are capable. I pray for strength for my friends, for the paths they must walk far harder than mine. For the roads they walk, far more treacherous than mine. I pray for the fortitude, the resilience of the human spirit; the bravery. I pray for the health and safety of my friends.
california, baked to the crust — filled with golden momentum and quarried secrets — captured in the every word, the sing-song bird, the querying lemon tree – the little reaching sky blazing in to a new day – the hills filled with their own wilderness, the ocean gulping down the haze of the world spun like thread — no one’s everything has ever wandered deeper into the sun / no stream of daylight has ever passed through my heart like this oxygen of motion /
bubble hills – you perch me a top the golden glow, the flippant hum of the ocean waves, the current of the current capture of the sky — the cloud fervor murmuring, the wash of pine and prickled leaves peeling towards absolute blue, the dots and dashes of brilliant purple and indigo flower eyes peering up from sandcastle sidewalks,, the tunnel of rainbow-colored bricks leading to spanish rooftops – red-blooded and brick raftered, taffy curled edges and magic-filled ledges, the popped blush of plantlife, the flash of magic, of bliss // of the everything looking back at you
sunrise over phoenix, and the world is quiet, the mountains stand at the ready – piercing the new day, bubbling like magma bones and fleshy cellulite strained into the air — the dirt is thick purple, the heat stiffles at every time of day – the air trembles with the murmur of the new day — these ancient piles, these magic wishbones of earth — i see you, i see you
and the news / the bruises, the endless aching heart of tragedy,, how dare we betray our lives with violence? how dare the world spin endlessly in this heartbreak – where is anything but senselessness?
i, savage rapture of my insides pulling against one another — i reach towards the sun, the sun pearls her little eyelashes back at me ;; i raid my memory for all the sweetest bits, the sticky glue to piece myself back together — i peel through every word and imagine it without you, my heart breaks at every small suture; i pull myself apart, i weave myself back together again
I, grown – feel my little life spinning again, feel like my heart has powers i’ve always waited to grow in to – i feel a silent blue light, a permanence of confidence, an unshakeable serenity — i feel i have all the time in the world, little youth bird, little capturer of light and words — i feel the resting place of the air – filled with words and wishes, i know how deeply i need the air and i know not why the universe spins this compass, peels me into the strange directions — i feel the universe in my every thought, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, i am trusting, or trying to, i am resisting, or trying to, i am releasing, or trying to
I love him terribly, terribly // my eyes fill with tears, i love him terribly
Strength is not devoid of pain, of attachment, of fear // love, an endless everything
I cannot loose myself from your sweetest caress, your confident affirmations, your presence and your care, the shelter of your body, your radiant joy, the peals of laughter, the courage and comfort – i love you terribly
We are messy bundles of mistakes we humans, we try and try again, we fail, we grow, we learn, we shape, we fail again, we roll downhill and pick up steam and turn into a better self, if we’re lucky. I want to be a better self, no matter how many times i feel i am cooked – no one is ever cooked, no one is ever anything more than a spinning ball — it helps when i fail // i need to remember to remember to let go endlessly, to need less, to love more freely, with patience and forgiveness for myself, and patience and forgiveness for others — not to never mess up, but to always apologize and learn, always be reaching towards my higher self, even though oftentimes the growth spins round in circles, knocks you off and peels you back up again – the path is not linear, growth is not easy, failing is normal, trying again is brave
raucous the energy; raucous the laughter — the play of the apostrophe of sound, the surly ribbon of action driving us onto the boards – the wagon wheels bouncing under the weight of our pounce, our reticence, our memory pulled in to high gear, the whole organic beast fumbling towards itself;; the summer night peeling against the air – the crickets wandering in and out of the play itself, the wilderness of the stars hunting for us, the crackle and pop of the lights flushing in from the side — the twist and tunnel of movement capturing sound — the native voices funneling through the fingertips — let the band play on, let the band play on —
my whole heart feels visceral inside of my chest, the gratitude – a long step into the darkness, the friendship solidifying, crystalizing – we carry each other, we carry each other – we’ve got each other. we have no fear.
the gripping light – the curvature of rain, always the sculptural feeling of being alive — always the pools of light you find to cup in your tender hands// your burned skin, your bruised thighs, the nationhood of your hair;; the failure of the summer light pooling at the sound of fireworks — the little black den of another theatre, another philadelphia street, a scattered, torn apart city tucked away by shadow and light — the copy of the copy;; the labyrinth– summer heat and the piles of july standing on top of one another – craning towards the sun;; perhaps a perhaps-hand, always a maybe-limb ;; and here another bundle of words wrapped tightly together with string, twine, and the curl of time away from your fingers — always a curl, always unfurling, always unfurled
I gaze into this moment; preschool graduation; their little voices laughing, giggling ; all a-splendor in the june grass and the splay of sprinkler spray // the green leaves, the sunlight streaming through — the patches of rainbow flecks from the umbrella;; I am astonished and humbled and amazed that I have mothered my son to this moment — that my son has grown to this moment // he calls his classmates by their name raucously – he runs on strong galloping feet; he gasps as he dunks his head into the wild sprinkler; he signs his name on the sign-in board on the white concrete wall with the sturdy yellow pencil ;; he has come to know this place – perhaps the first time a place has meant something to him in this way;; I recognize this as the first of many separations in his life — one so large for such a little life — I recognize the strange gasping at loss in his eyes ;; I wish that I could bear the brunt of it for him – I know that I must not — he carries so much in his little body, on this big day;; this last day of school, this first day of summer ;; this calling out to the cackling world — he splays his hands into a field of rocks ; chimes in to a cheer if he does not understand yet ; he holds his mouth towards mimicking the crowd that is just one year older than him (a huge difference) ;; he stores in his teacher a reverence only the first teacher can possibly have ; he gallops towards the table of unicorn-colored cupcakes ;; he knows not how to peel the wax paper off of it – but he does know how to stuff it in his mouth and speak with a mouth full of sunshine ;; I praise the small victories in my head ; the ability to hold his backpack on his own two shoulders ; to gather his things ; to wish his friends goodbye ; I know not how we arrived at this place from the sunny morning on which he was born ; i sit astonished at this small milestones and shutter to understand how I will approach all the many more I must greet — I take myself in too — myself as a young mother ; I see myself from a bird’s eye view ; see the youth in my skin; the burnt color of the season starting to change ;; I try to hold the weight of Jamie in my arms and memorize it ; how much space he takes up ; how little his body is still , and how big at the same time ;; this is an endless game with which parents play, is it not? How big and how small all at once? both sides of the time spectrum meeting each other at all moments — you looking from the beginning and you looking from that ever-present end at the singular and ever-folding moment before you