Loon

 

You've been walking in circles, your foot soaked with pothole water, sock gritty with asphalt. It only becomes a labyrinth when you become mindful. Then it's time to find your way out. By the lake, in autumn. It takes longer than you'd think. The blossoms have fallen from the stems of the hydrangeas. The wind picks up. Sand compresses beneath your sneakers, then rises behind you. The water is beautiful. The mergansers seek food inside the water; their diving is beautiful. The mountains containing the water: dappled gold, and beautiful. The trees, so many of them, drink the water. They are beautiful. At each dead end you turn into a new beginning. 

loss of memory due usually to brain injury, shock, fatigue, repression, or illness

 

Where they may, where they may, where they, they are falling. I remember I am remembering I am remembering myself remembered. I am remembering how much has been lost. I am remembering she who strode knee-high in the silk dress. I am remembering her convictions. I am remembering her belting out on the streets of Georgetown. I am remembering what the Torture Machine has sucked from the soul. Come what may may come, what is certain is that you need a break. You need to find your stride again. If you read it back it's all there. I'm not a fucking bunny. 

moon time

 

Is it always this way at first? Has it been this way before? In the beginning, was it like this, also? Will it similarly change? Am I capable of saying, with certainty, that this time is different? What if the memory of the other times simply has faded? What I mean is, is it possible to practice discernment under these conditions? I mean, is it even possible? Don't our brains and bodies operate autonomously, at least at times, from the witness? Can even the witness be fooled? In the woods, beside the creek, on the crescent rim of a deep, silver pool: Are you supposed to observe, if such a thing is possible, from the water's edge, perhaps dipping one toe into the buoyancy, and then, if it proves reasonable enough to do so, another? Or are you supposed to tumble into it? 

morning/after

 

Waking early, I didn't mind it. Brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, I didn't mind it. Foraged for a matched sock in the mound of unfolded laundry, I didn't mind it. Pulled a dirty pair of work pants over my thermal tights and didn't mind. Messed up the ratio of dairy-free creamer to coffee and didn't mind. Drove to work, joined my friend in the woodland, thick thorns entangling me, I didn't mind. One by one, I pulled them from my fleece until I'd stepped free of the snare. What's the news? Yesterday I napped for the first time in seven years. On the drive home I was singing. 

he says what many people don't understand is that mistakes are a gift, because you can learn from them

 

In defiance I asked for the clippers. In a perfectionistic haze he overused them. In the mirror I mourn the loss. Now I know. 

walking at night

 

You have said what needed to be said, and honorably. The moon is seven-eighths full. 

A thick, flat cloud hangs like a painting over the rooftops. 

The stars have come out. 

Hold to the truth and speak it. You'll find liberation there. 

The apology comes so late. 

Even the fading stars are still shining.

Surely it's not a coincidence that as you prioritize yourself, other people care too. 

Orion cinches his belt. He aims. 

sure

 

I have never been have I no she has never been no she says you have never been and condemned for it. When I tell the story out loud when I hear my voice telling the story when I say the words that form the story when I say the words and I watch her face when I say the words and I hear myself say them I am shocked by how straightforward it sounds. The banality of harm. Its continuity. Perhaps more so perhaps also perhaps most of all perhaps most hard to say I'm embarrassed by it. How I let it go on for so long. How familiar it feels to feel ashamed. As if the alcohol never left the system as if the alcohol is still flowing through the body-which-is-a-system as if the alcohol is corroding our veins as if our blood is turning to liquor as if our pulse is slackening as we remain acting as if veins do not lead to the heart. Why have I been unable or unwilling to act as if this matters. In her eyes so much compassion that I almost forgive myself.