endless and endless

you press your hand into mine – an immeasurable gift; i trace your still-tiny toes as they tuck up against my belly under the blanket  — you smile some knowing smile i know not when you grew into – some bundle of knowledge that has blown through your brain ; i look at you and sometimes astonish myself with how large you seem, how grown up – the maturity just beginning to peak out in the smallest of features, the way you look when you’re concentrating on a problem, the tuft of your nose beginning to sharpen your features ever so slightly – the small mannerisms of language you add to acknowledge awkwardness or self-awareness of your own social foible (i cringe at this awareness, as i prayed you’d never have to meet it) ;; your giggle still sounds full toddler-abandon, when i get you to belly laugh from way beyond social convention , you still gaze in awe and wonder at beautiful things, ask for rainbows, sing to your stuffed animals, the sweetest pitch of a voice climbing over a perfect hill — you still ask for snuggles, greet my hand with welcome, nuzzle on to my leg — but you tell me you know things too, when i remind you of them ; you start to wander down your own path, when we walk together in the woods ; you start to groan when i ask you how your day was ; sometimes i even feel the first twinge of embarassment from you when i ask hold you at just too public of a moment — you grow up and out and away and towards, and still i know the love i have showered all over you was the best thing i have ever done with my life ; still i know it comes up endless and endless, and it will never stop being my greatest accomplishment : loving you, and watching you grow just your own way

the only everything

the roll of wooden chairs on in a red light – burning a hole in the stage, my character shoes piercing the dust, the chalklines of europe etched onto the paint — our laughter, our light, the gravity of history ; curled hair bits and short black wigs and fishnets and garter belts and all the ways i am tied and twisted into costume ; the way that melody warps its way around us all, the hum of our feet hitting the notes, the swell of our bodies rolling and rotating towards each other / the flush of greys, tans and german accents / the flow of trust, the curtain of sensuality, the rush of the band, the glow of the lights, dim; select – the tap of our heels as we tiptoe backstage, trying not to make a sound, the blue light of the wings swelling about wooden planks – the endless rush, the joyous sound, the love of creation, the curl of friendship / dragging my fingers across my legs, balancing on a wooden stool, placing my weight just here or there to make sure this rickety old thing carries me; heaving through sickness ; braving through personal trials, and endlessly finding comfort in the stage; comfort in the wings, in the glow of the lights, in the forgetting of problems and the finding of community; i would never trade it for anything – it will never stop curing my heart of any pain ; it will never stop giving me strength and clarity ; i will never stop being inspired and in love with the theatre ; the boards, the wings, the lights, the journey, the creation — gratitude is the only everything i take away

new orleans, louisianna

new orleans sinking like a bottomless note to the edge of the country – dipping its toes in the Mississippi, shaking off the excess for always ; friendship in the dazzled sunshine and street walks to vegan grits, jambalaya, liquor and coffee / the race and rush of bourbon street a song in my ear – the humbled splay of beads dancing out of every canopy , the flush appearance of grass and swaying pines ; of jungle leaves and dappled pastel houses like paintings pulling themselves out of the sidewalk // paint dripped on every corner, hushed lullabies of haunted windowscapes — voodoo wish words passed down through the ages — funneled in to some big brass instrument and swinging out for every jazz jingle that hunts its way down the bayou / yoga on the back porch in the sway of january breeze, gumbo and quiplash and air bnb wine and the dungeon and the bounce frenchman street ; of walgreens and CVS and stripper’s eyes – the mundane made magnificent, the glamour of a sunday afternoon paled in the french quarter and baked in something past cultural significance — the city swinging like a note or two out of place from the rest of the country ; held, like a wish star floating ; suspended by the billow of music within