I have so many things to do, in this wet and golden month, warm month, swampy month. Set the course of all eternity! I am, somehow, responsible for all of it. I do not know how these things fall on me.
The nostalgic planet! The incredible richness and variety of human friends! It makes me drunk. And it overcomes me, like drinking.
For my birthday, a headcold, and a love so tender it threatened to lose my heart from my chest. I could finally relax my white-knuckle grip on the esophagus of my memory, choke on my own feelings, look through bleary, congested eyes at friends who, like buoys at sea, keep my ship from drifting off by way of a rough straw-colored rope about the railing of my deck.
It is a long rope. A long, long, long rope. A rope that dips beneath the sea, a rope that grows barnacles, a rope that is swallowed in the waves- but holds fast. Holds Fast! Suddenly, and without warning, I pull into port, at last, forgotten, grown over, my expectations dashed against the rocks- only to watch a dear friend laugh, her teeth like white chiclets- she hasn’t aged a day! It is like seeing god.