I never liked nature. Or, so I thought. The walk is hard, I don’t adapt well to change. Life is about comings and goings. I breathe in, watching the hues deepen. Halfway through the walk, perception shifts. I cannot replace what has gone missing. My shoulders less on attack, I feel less alone. The sound of gravel underfoot brings small comfort. The sweet, shadow dog loves me through all my complicated colors, every season.
Because it’s raining, and my mother sits in the kitchen with a pencil reading Georgia Pine., first edits. I reflect. Typing in my Zen room, deep in the world of Georgia Pine. I work fast, anxious to see how the story ends, intersects, everything comes to a close. (even I don’t know if they characters will veer left or right). I am melancholy. I will miss Harrison, and her descendants. For me, living in
She disappeared inside the land of make-believe, filled with Crayola crayons so bright she wore tinted sunglasses I always thought true love was equivalent to good poetry dying today, today, today I‘ve learned how to sleep alone with my dreams A young girl fell in love with art, without perhaps ever knowing his name
Let’s face it; there’s no fooling. The sagging skin, the wrinkled face, the ridiculous forty something woman in short skirts and bottled-up Botox. The gravitational pull and the eventual flight back home were booked in advance. You already hold the winning ticket. I recognize the faces in the street, the fear, the familiar grimace and disgust at the sideways glance in the shop’s windowpane. I see the doubt, the two-second
I wrote EMBERS AND ASH some years ago, or so. I don’t remember the precise day, I remember the unhappy circumstance. I needed to come home. I was unwell. Truth, I was out of my fucking mind and the only person I wanted, needed and trusted was the one who birthed me. Her ferocious, constant, capable mother-love was the only thing that was not spinning out of control. The one I