Year / Month

 

For many months, so few pictures

In the ones that do exist, we're never looking at each other

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. 

Bryce

 

In the red-red canyon the red rock rises above the red earth sinking beneath the heft of red stones. The sky is blue, blue is the sky, in the night, dark blue, and pricked full of stars. White whiffs of cloud. The desert endless and the trees evergreen. The sand-whipped deadwood: a mountain lion crouched over prey. 

comforter

 

I am sitting on the bed the comforter is dirty I am sitting on the comforter the bed is dirty I am sitting in my red sweatpants swaying I am swaying sitting in my red sweatpants. The dog is looking from the floor she is waiting she is waiting for my okay she is waiting for my okay so she can jump on the bed. The dog jumping on the bed is why the comforter is dirty. I bring this on myself. 

perspicacious

 

In front of the yarn store, beside the sheep pasture, tucked into the long green hillside, the orange cat preens 

I drove there by myself 

Also the old fire road, eighteen inches of fresh snow and the Honda sliding around switchbacks 

One-handed down Good Drive, on my way to other places 

Give him some space

Give him some time 

Let him find his way back to you 

I miss the alpine evergreens 

Here in my heart, what do they teach me 

Try this novel thing: 

I'm just not going to stop being myself

Let the chips fall 

Ask them if they're by the colorful tree

 

Now you've gone and blown all over my harmonica

Now I am having a human experience that I've never had before 

Now I am spitting the blood back

Blaming my feelings when it was me who overrode them 

Haven't I proven myself enough? 

Now's the time to make the pavlova  

Reality

 

I've done what I've done.

 

I feel what I feel. 

 

 

We Survive in 2025

 

Jesus fuck!

The brussel sprouts are burnt 

Smoke crowds into the recessed lighting 

The sweet potatoes are still rock hard 

They might need another hour 

The chicken is as yet undercooked 

Fuck! The new meat thermometer has stopped working 

The old meat thermometer was likely made in 1964 

Shit, shit, shit. I'm almost out of spinach. We need something green 

The glass shatters when the fridge closes

The oven sits wide open

24 / 25

 

Three things that changed me: 

1. My Dad suffered 

2. My Dad died 

3. I learned I am good 

Three things I'm grateful for: 

1. A handwritten card

2. Woodland flowers 

3. Fulfilling work  

Two things I yearn for: 

1. Real love 

2. Restoration 

Thumbs on a nickel blitz

 

In the restaurant the window sun glows strong 

Sweat forms in the widow's armpits 

She hopes he will see 

Come evening the dog is too hot 

She pants on a red fleece throw 

She is practicing self-restraint 

It is a work in progress 

I could not be at a party right now

Perhaps I've shared too much 

I'm trying not to overthink it 

My heart is beating so fast 

My father calls me in the dark

 

Hey, I'm in trouble 

He doesn't know where he is 

It might be some kind of bunker 

He doesn't know who else is there, but he can hear them 

They might be cops 

They are plotting to harm him 

They are plotting to harm me and my sister

He needs to get out of there 

No, he's sure of it

Yes, he can see the TV on the wall 

Yes, he can see the curtain to the right of his bedside 

Yes, he can see the whiteboard with his name on it 

Yes, he can see the date in the upper righthand corner 

It is [April.] It is [June.] It is [August.] It is [October.] It is [December.] It is [Christmas Day.] It is [February.] It is [March.] It is [April again.] It is [May.] It is [June, again.] It is [July.] 

The large yellow paper magnetized to the board says, fall risk

Dad, do you think I would lie to you? 

That's right. I would never lie to you.

So you can trust me when I tell you that you're in the hospital 

Yes, really. You're there because you [have sepsis.] You're there because [you went septic again.] You're there because you [were so weakened by the sepsis that you fell and broke your pelvis.] You're there because you [were so weakened by the stroke that was caused by the sepsis that you struggle to swallow, and you've developed aspiration pneumonia after eating dinner one evening.] You're there because you [developed aspiration pneumonia again. It's because you had a stroke. Yes, really. It occurred because you had sepsis.] You're there because you [have aspiration pneumonia again and are going to have a feeding tube installed in your intestine because it's no longer safe for you to eat or drink.] You're there because you [have to undergo emergency surgery because the new feeding tube caused a life-threatening bowel obstruction.] You're there because you [were so weakened by the last year that you're having trouble walking.] You're there because [you've been so weakened by the last year and a half that your heart might be giving out. Actually, your heart is doing okay. Turns out, it's your lungs that can no longer function.] 

Everyone you can hear is trying to help you

I guess I just have to trust you 

You can trust me. 

You are safe. This is really hard. You are so strong

You're going to feel better as soon as we get you home 

That's going to be so soon, Dad 

I promise 

No living or sleeping aloud

 

It's been a long time since I've written love poems 

I didn't realize how much I believed was over 

All my scandals are internal 

In the picture of us both what I'm looking at is me 

Tenderness is possible 

It's morning. You have to go outside 

agree to degree

 

I expect the same kind of dance: kindness followed by its revocation 

Is this what all humans do? 

I have never been certain that he won't turn on me 

Is that normal?

No one has asked me why I like ferns before

I want to show you the person I am now 

I can sense what respect looks like 

If a door is closed, I won't keep knocking 

below freezing

 

In truth I've been loving the cold 

It's like the deep tissue massage, elbows sunk into flesh 

Pressure familiar and, somehow, almost comforting 

It hasn't pained me 

Not for me to break the silence 

I am using this as an opportunity to practice being who I am now 

I will not countenance subordination 

If a fight breaks out, I trust myself to discern: 

walk away, or finish it