Saturday, July 13, 2024

as seen

Something happened today.
Right after I heard, 
I fumbled with the remote
And paced around the room
And felt a strange bodily shock
Even as my mind was stirring doubt.
Is that blood even real? 
Why is it so red? 
Why isn't there more of it? 

When he popped right back up and said
"Wait wait wait" 
And then pumped his first and mouthed the words
"Fight fight fight"
I shuddered at the suggestion
And wondered why
He'd only mouthed
The loudest part.

The world did not stop,
Not really.
Not like it did before 
There were so many ways
To see.
We moved along our day,
Redirected our hours to 
Our own private joys and tragedies
And watched something else on TV. 

Saturday, March 23, 2024

what is happening

What is happening is Matthew in China is telling me about how his science class experiment got cancelled because a bunch of kids got sick from the fertilizer.

And the trees are just blossoming pink outside- last year it seemed to only last a week before summer arrived full-on, or at least the blooms were gone. 

Yesterday, Scream Queen classics were mentioned in a book I'm reading. Last night I dreamt I was being stalked by a killer. I've never even seen those films. 

And across the world there are unspeakable atrocities occurring that I am too gutless or boundaried to expose myself to,

But plenty are.

And there's an ALL CAPS multiple-posts-a-day frenzied number who are mad at me for caring so little and for carrying on so blythely and how dare I take a walk or piddle away hours on trash tv and how dare I NOT USE MY VOICE.

And right now I am telling Matthew he's a vocabulary superstar and great focus and do you want to use our last few minutes for vocabulary pictionary and it's ok, you can be the artist. I will just keep guessing. 

Thursday, January 11, 2024

what you do

Looking at my own tooth in my own hand 
-A thing where it should not be-
On a night when I happen to be home alone
With no one to scream the shock to

Means whispering oh my god oh my god
Quietly
Staring at the small piece of glass
Then rushing to see the gaping hole where it used to be
Wondering when, exactly,
It stopped being me.

Wednesday, December 6, 2023

at the end of a tough year

I absorb sadness
(the soaking kind)
Like a sponge
Too full to wring

What is a little more
To add to the end of
An unfixed dripping
Tidal
Swing
Unanchored
Stream of months

Porous and poor

Another year

Saturday, September 30, 2023

more comfort than courage

When it starts getting darker early
Layers and thicker socks
And by 7pm I'm ready to give in
Those liminal minutes
That feel like an actual pull
And my body feels heavy and far away
My mind deliciously blank

In those moments I am fearless
I am most ready
For nothing

Monday, May 15, 2023

years of it

Everyone got wider and a bunch of people got divorced and no one is really saying it in so many words but wow this has been a challenging decade and it's been awhile since anyone's felt especially hopeful and there's no real end in sight but we're too tired, now, to manage anxiety spirals so this mild depression can almost be mistaken for calm. 

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

bike camp

I went away to bike camp for the weekend where most everyone was either ten years older or ten years younger than me.

The older folks wanted to talk about bikes. The younger ones wanted to talk about AI and revolution. 

turn turn turn

Friday, April 21, 2023

first infection

while I was infected for the first time,
the world mostly kept on
while I mostly slept for hundreds of hours 
and took three days to finish a movie.
I read nothing meaningful and thought nothing important
and had no energy to care or worry about health or wellness at all
(except for a few anxiety spirals that sent me right to sleep).
a bunch of people got shot in America and 
artificial intelligence continued to advance at a rapid rate
and no one cared much or knew what to do if they did.
that's all.
more or less.

Sunday, March 19, 2023

nostalgia

What a thing to crave- 
catastrophe.
When days shrink to surviving and little else. 
Congratulations due for getting through.
The simplicity was an odd, unexpected comfort. 

Whereas now, 
in some quiet in between or after,
the questions announce themselves again.
Regrets and wondering at purpose.
Looking in the mirror for the first time, maybe, in years.

Wasn't it somehow easier, then?
In surprising ways?

In 2020 when I saw no one and sang the Cranberries
Empty
in a hot shower twice a day.
Took two hour walks to get to a mailbox and 
swept up rollypollies, 
heaps of them dead at the door,
every morning.

I didn't feel old or complacent and
it wasn't a question of having settled 
or having lost my spark 
or much of anything related to a self at all.

I was nervous about the world,
alive in it,
and little else.

oh, to be

Saturday, February 25, 2023

the panic, twice

It's been, what, a week or so now and it seems distant again-

unless I check the news.

Twice in the span of a few weeks,

looking down to see the words ACTIVE SHOOTER

alive on my phone.

Once was the first thing I saw in the morning,

and I stumbled out of the room mumbling about it in a hushed, incomprehensible tone, doom-scrolled for ten minutes before the picture became clear, and then promptly fell back asleep.

"What were you saying about his school?" he texted later.

"OMG" he replied.

Hoax.  

It had been a hoax phone call.  But the kids had been locked down and dismissed and they parents remained actively rattled.

The panic came back to me in strange ways throughout the day.  

Needing to pause to catch my breath at odd times.  Muscles tightened for no reason.

All that, and I was steps removed and an entire country away.

Imagine.

The second I was attempting to make my first carrot tartare,

carrots cooked and ready to be diced

chives and capers-

(the way I'd been craving capers-

just the thought could elicit a physical response)

and it was all coming together.  

But this time it was not a phone call

and there were real bodies emptied

and no followup outcome article

because the shooter was still at large

and people were hiding in their apartment showers

and new information was not being shared 

but conspiracies were all over screens

and in between dicing carrots I was 

refreshing my phone

and reaching out to a friend who worked at the site.

She was not at work, but home,

grinding egg shells for her worm compost

and exchanging frantic texts with me about

the strange disconnect of this

very domestic moment

in a terrifying world.

Sunday, December 18, 2022

xmas

gosh the holidays hurt with expectation

hopes wrapped too tightly

santa is not real

not in the way we talk now

and no one has any idea what they are doing

and everyone's too busy to ask

wouldn't the magic

come more honestly

if it had less to do with

this

stuff

Sunday, December 19, 2021

actual

People were here that aren't now. 

Celeste. 

Theresa.

Who knows the names to come. 

I remember a cacophony of gentle and unkind things I thought and said at times- thinking we would go on being people together forever I suppose.  The beauty I witnessed in them.  The things I judged.  The weight of that now.  How heavy the petty can be. 


It's just not time yet.

What is any of this, actually?

done

I need to tell you something in a hushed tone

about the man in the wheelchair

with only one shoe

hunched over 

openly weeping in the rain

and how I walked by him.  

What do we do?  What can we do? 

How is it that a whole crowd of us can stand and wait for the light to change and pretend not to notice a human being openly weeping only ten feet away?

What must it feel like to be the person in that chair- invisible.  Worse than invisible. 

And at the same time- 

What can be done?  What could I possibly do?  And if I started doing something, would it ever end?

Sunday, October 24, 2021

when

When it's very cold outside 

but warm inside

and I'm a little bit sad

but safe. 

That's my favorite part of living.

Thursday, October 7, 2021

waves

did that happen?

did I almost drown in the ocean,

unaware that I was at risk

until the lifeguard was swimming toward me?

do all of the contents of your life feel more and more like this as you get older?  like a story that happened to someone else.  like a scene from a movie, remembered hazily?  near death experiences remembered apatheicaly through a fog. 

where does it go- 

the feeling of living?

Thursday, July 1, 2021

dear diary

Sometimes when I'm writing something,

a letter or a text or a post or a newsletter that only like 10 people read,

I think "what if something happened to me and these are the last words that people would scrutinize and dwell on, reading them over and mining for great meaning in every possible symbol and sign?"

Then I remember that my mom, after watching Ladybird with me, didn't see us there at all.  Instead, the whole thing reminded her of her and grandma.  Missing the point entirely.  

(or did she?  It hardly matters.  I can still feel my quiet, resigned disappointment at her reaction- twisted like a dull knife)

I guess the point is, there's no guarantee that anyone in this life will actually understand you.  Not even if you share blood or a roof or trauma or years.  

Sometimes- most times- you're just writing for yourself.  

Thursday, May 27, 2021

stop not

What if, instead of becoming paralyzed whenever I think of starting to write more again, what if I just stop not writing?  For some of the most important years of my life, I couldn't help but document.  The need hasn't gone anywhere.  It's been channeled and diffused, but I still feel compelled to slow living down in order to look at it and mold it... to see it instead of just experiencing it.  What if I got myself a little notebook?  The physicality of those little notebooks might have been the link that kept me red blood alive.  

When I considered the disconnect between me and mom the other day (moments before drifting off, naturally), I felt a flash of fear that maybe she would give or throw away the crate of my journals and diaries that have been kept in her basemen for twenty years.  She's hinted at what a nuisance my storage has been for nearly as long... and has even given some of my old things away without asking.  Who's to say someday it wouldn't be my journals... in a fit of spite or daffiness or who knows what asinine reason there might be.  She believes in Qanon doctors, for chrissakes.  

At this moment, I feel more urgency to recover those journals more than I feel the need to build any bridge across the enormous gap that exists between the two alternate realities mom and I exist it.  

Sunday, May 23, 2021

actually

 What do mothers and daughters talk about?


Saturday, May 8, 2021

somehow

When it starts to announce itself

it is almost as if remembering an absence.

It's startling really.  Stops you like a head cold.  


oh yes, that's right-

there is no point 


An absolute miracle

and utterly meaningless

and we balance both, somehow.  


All this filling of days and 

charting of paths- 

visions-

finding people and letting them go-

giving things away only to wonder where they went-

and none of it able to withstand the force

of one natural disaster

or nasty cancer

or coincidental encounter with a violent lunatic.  


At the same time, 

the idea of its going-

that there is only one of every day 

and that there are only so many days to experience at all.


It's enough to celebrate and enough to mourn,

enough to feel something-

even to imagine

a point or a choice.


depressed or devastated?

what day is today?

Saturday, April 17, 2021

subtraction

sometimes I get angry all over again

even now

waking up in the middle of the night with the thought

*thousands of dollars*

like a heart gasp


the thought that the pattern happened more than once

the shame in generosity

the way holding someone else's hand meant I could never get ahead

the way the man who read my palm, voluntarily, at the corner store

knew and warmed me, even

and still


my heart is a calculator who will wake me up at night 

to tell me something isn't right 

years, even a decade, after the subtraction


Sunday, March 21, 2021

spring

 There are these little flashes- 

some temporary vision of what enormous joy and dread it is to be human. 

A glimpse at your own capacity- 

or the crushing weight of clear scenes from paths you never took -

people you never became-

commitments never kept or made at all. 


And it is only a moment and at times even that feels too much.  

And then the intensity will lift, just as suddenly, and you'll have a hard time recalling what it was that had you on the verge of tears in the middle of the afternoon over a month ago.  

Thursday, January 7, 2021

living

What is it like to be alive?

Left with impressions, mainly.

Staring out the window of a bus.  

The smell of laundry by the side of the house.

Grandma's hands, coloring in circles.

We encounter dozens of world views and philosophies throughout our life.  Most of us end up settling into the one we were raised with, or something somewhere in the neighborhood.  Defined, eventually, by the ways we stray and the ways we stay.

We spend the first third focused on our own personal and immediate dramas, unaware of a wider world, no thought to roots from which we'd sprung.  We spend our middles over thinking and fretting over everything- turning over awkward things spoken years ago and weighed down by some feeling of never quite being able to do enough.  Eventually we return to our small worlds again, concerned only with our own daily acts of living and surviving and remembering and forgetting.  


Thursday, October 29, 2020

no ache no nothing

My god

How do any of us, actually?

There isn't time enough to 

Exist

Or to consider any of it adequately. 


Here we are.  Trudging forward


It flares up like a hemorrhoid now and then for years 

until finally, it's gone entirely.  

It is unfathomable. 

The need to have -

Gone


And arms feel light like wings,

Not empty.

Monday, August 10, 2020

why I'm crying today

Today I'm crying because I've never written a novel

and I likely won't start today.

What exactly am I grieving?

The loss of a potential that is still very much alive?

maybe the years have made me fearful

maybe the risk to try feels more intimidating somehow

maybe there is so much to grieve in the world

that this is just a very literal way to process

not knowing where to begin


Sunday, August 2, 2020

endeavour

The Endeavour space capsule landed back on earth today
and I couldn't bring myself to care
and I couldn't stop crying.

I think I must have hit a depression bump, I tell him
and he looks at me sideways
and keeps chewing his food.

So here I am at the start of a new month
in a year that seems to be starting
to swallow me whole.