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.
3 thoughts on “not a day”
Glad to see you back…I found home once and lost it…it’s taken me almost 20 years to realize it was never about a place…
~I must say that your words touch me, simply, complete. You are fiction, you are real, you are touching. Home is for scrapbooking, home is for collecting, i like burning love and keeping flies close to my breast. It’s raining here in texas, that is my home, raining buckets. I think about your life and say it is something beautiful, like a deity, like a real piece of american cheese. so much love to you carrot, i pray. you are a solider of voices.
thanks for the gifts on this birthday, and wishes for a happy one to you as well. ken
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