Spring is a tempest and daffodils are obscene, who went under the hood of the world and changed everything. Yellow sun, you cruel trickster, my life was fine until you came back. Now, in retrospect, everything was lacking. Why does the world have this power over me/why do I live in this rainy place. I think about moving to New Mexico- I have never stopped in New Mexico, only blasted through it on the freight train. When you are riding the sunset route from Alabama to LA there are no crew changes in New Mexico. The train barrels beneath thunderstorms at seventy miles an hour, way off in the desert can be seen ramshackle houses patched with plywood, laundry lines, spotted horses. You sit up and watch the empty desert. It is too windy to speak. The horizon is clay-colored mountains and at night, there are stars.
There is an acupuncture school in New Mexico, that is what I tell myself when I think about moving there. The school is arduous and expensive, as acupuncture schools tend to be, and the program lasts four years. But when I think about moving to New Mexico there are fears, and also I know that there is no greener grass, that reality is a weighted scale, that you can only move out of the fire into the fire. But oh, I am so tired of the rain! I want to move to New Mexico so that I can become tired of new, more novel things. Tired of the sun! I would like to be tired of the sun. I would like to ache for the rainforest, I would like to imagine the dripping cedars and the thick green moss. I would like to squint, instead, in the bright, endless daylight of the desert. Despite my longing for the rainforest, I would like to feel the optimism of the round yellow sun, every single day.
I know that I cannot grow larger, that I can only hold so many things, and so every new thing I add pushes some other thing out. I lie in bed at night, with the sound of the rain on the roof of my trailer and I wonder, is it possible to be happy in the desert?
Do I have readers in the desert? Are you happy there? Tell me.