May 28, 2008
May 27, 2008
So here are the strawberries.
May 26, 2008
The best thing was being silent and sitting in the lumberyard entrance with the windows down, watching water gust under the streetlights, and hearing faintly the wail of storm sirens. I hadn't heard that sound since I was very small.
I forgot to mention that there was a flash flood and water over the highway on the return voyage. We had to wait in a long line of headlights for a long time. It's funny how people feel closer to you when you are all waiting for the same thing. To pass, to move. To get to home. People were walking around and talking through open windows. Aaron Copeland's Rodeo on the classical station. I was thinking again, laying on the seat while K hugged my knees to her as her pillow, mostly about what is precious to me, a lot about why it is such a useful thing to have a bladder of steel, and about the difference between the storms in my family and the ones surrounding us, and about being safe and about beef it's what's for dinner and about the silhouette of my Daddy's face against the headlights in my sleepy brown eyes and
May 22, 2008
I just slept for an hour, or more than an hour disorienting sleep losing track of the world. Curled up tightly under my blue blanket. I felt my mother come in. She covered my cold feet. I woke up at 4:07 and I was breathing in time with a piano. Mozart. Salzburg concerto C Major, Amadeus. Theophilus, Gottlieb.
Aperto. My heart is open and full.
I love you too so I'll be funnier.
I've gotten dressed finally and wrapped my pathetic self up in the blue felty illness blanket. I am listening to the classical station and becoming slightly delusional and eating some quaggy carroty mushy soup. I won't say exactly what it looks like. And it tastes like rot too. If I sipped between the pulpy orange bits there supposedly is some sort of tolerable liquid I daren't call it broth, but I don't have the will for it and hardly the appetite. I think quaggy is a word. When the sun comes out I'll delete all this anyway. I promise. I wonder if there is a hospice like service that sends someone to your house to love you when you're miserable and have only got one can of quaggy carrot mush soup rot to eat. One that doesn't necessarily require you to die after it's all said and done, though I suppose I could if it came down to it. Mum used to take care of me at times like these, but presently she is 1)Too busy and 2)too susceptible. Actually this morning when I announced my condition from my pillow she said something along the lines of oh shnike I can't get sick and ran off to search for a gas mask, now she's my shadow with the can of disinfectant. I laugh so I don't have to cry. I think shnike is a word.
When the sun comes out I'll delete all this anyway. And it will, the sun.
I wouldn't mind rainbows.
May 21, 2008
May 20, 2008
We race between them up and down the lawns while our mums talk. I wear out between the 2nd and 3rd maple after working all day and he keeps running and running and running and running. I swear he is that pink rabbit with the drum, I have him for a piano student and I can't keep up. Waiting patiently, for something quieter to click, a like a love for the sounds. For music.
May 19, 2008
May 16, 2008
This happened. I wanted to run away but it was too cold. There were no words for why and I wanted to know more than anyone else. I fell and found my fault and now so suddenly it's yesterday. I didn't write because there was more than could ever be said.
It feels simple that no grief comes now. It feels right to open my hand. And yet my heart is not strong so I asked, hold me. I am ready now. Let go, and go.
You don't have to understand this, the only ones who know or try are the angel of smiles, the boy who sits near me and the one who held my face in her hands. They are enough.
So. My voice still shakes. So?
It has still been raining in Missouri until today. So, so green are all of us and the rivers well from our souls. I don't care, flood me away. Here is peace now. The sun becomes perfect at 7:21 pm and I walk a little at times when there is no other thing to do which is never. I am working and working and most times in a way I can't understand I remember to be funny in the day and then comes night, I become small, see golden things. Transude brokenness, drifts of sunlight in my soul and how uncertain it is to have so little sadness.