These are the summer days, the dreary dreams, the things that get stuck on the sides of my house. This is my mother, her soul feels like warm cotton candy and swallowing whole jars of generosity. We wander down streets, through cars, up alleyways and down gutters. We slide through her Honda, music thumping at our thighs and the sweet caress of chlorine diving deep into our pores, pouring out huge lists of everything we no longer have to do. We no longer have to have. We resign ourselves to the resentment of the sky, the clouds and the trees- they obey only the beauty that holds them together like wax. We keep words together like reminders of old worlds we once loved. But mostly, we build anew. We built this summer. My lips sting from the salt of the sea, the absolution of the sun and the muscles in my face that keep dragging my lips into a smile, a grin, a delirious explication of ecstasy. Of how it feels to feel. Of letting. Of letting.
I keep diving into water. I keep chasing the sunset back to its home. I keep dawdling on the horizon, letting my lungs fill up with fresh lake. I keep watching the light change on my back porch, wondering when it will be beautiful enough that I can dissolve into it. I keep swallowing whole swarms of lightning bugs and watching them as they light up my barely breathing belly. I have surrendered myself to the sound the trees make as they lean in the wind and I have sworn my life to the hiccups of the stars as they start to dance in the evening glow. I have already taken June in my wet and wrinkled hands and tossed it through my body, letting it touch every tuneless melody in my mind and mass of matter and it has already washed away from me, solid and subtle and full of children’s squeals. July has already rolled into my wrists and wrung out my neck with a wave of sacred heat that wants me to roll my skin up at the ankles to let the wind rush through my bones.
I have signed my life away to a man on the other side of the world, waiting on a bed made for two in a town made for what I think I need. I have packed my belongings in two blue rectangles and readied myself for the dizzying unknown. I have sold my soul 3 times too many and I have placed my love in the hands of all that can see me.
I belong to the wind, to the Western shore of wheezing wonder. I belong to all that is beautiful and bountiful, waiting for me to break it open and suck up its bruised blood. I belong to the flood from the seven skies of light. I belong to our sacred star, the one that has browned my skin and burned through my scalp. I belong to a long list of fallen loves, each of whom has ripped open my spine and inserted a wild wash of wisdom into my willows. I belong to birth and faith and everything that wants to burst forth from the earth. The sweet sour skin of fruits not yet born into this world, the rinds of rings of endless edgeless faith.
Just faith, just faith, just fearless moments and dissolving windows and wonders. Just moments not yet given, digested by the soul of time. Just times tasted and tested and turned backwards and forwards by the long lists of everything that drip from your dizzying heights. From the highs, the lows and all things that flow between. All things that know nothing and somehow everything. Just floating, I’m always floating. Flying through bits of sky that are laced in the water, dissolving through clouds of brilliant azure that are assuredly dancing through my soul, flying up and down past folded bits of the past that want to want me, want to cling onto my shoulders, dance inside of my skin.
I’ve got all these bones and no where to put them. I’ve got all this skin and no way to shake out of it. I’ve got more and less and less and more. I’ve got no more knowledge than I’ve ever had and I’ve got seventeen thousand edges to my mirror. And they all reflect inwards.