that ride took at least an hour
longer than it usually does
big brown clown mountains
to my left the last part of the trip
here is wide open sky
and I forgot this
and I forgot that
and in my freedom
I forgot why I leave
Eileen,
I leave
my name.
from Snow-Flake by Eileen Myles, 2012
Spent the first day of the new year eating kolache, reading The Emigrants, and putting the finishing touch on a homemade card. I’m ready to head home and get to spring. I’ve already said/implied “peace” for 2012 more than I’m willing to admit but am secretly scared of the coming 366. Maybe I read too much about the Weimar Republic today. Regardless a passage I underlined this afternoon talked about fairy tale apples served on a bed of rhubarb and bodies of missing explorers emerging from melted glaciers and I thought of you and feel good about most everything.
The alley outside.
Jets flying.
Dripping things.
The crab eye buzz of fans.
Kids and dogs and halls.
Fingers.
A sleeping cat.
An empty grape plate.
Sirens.
The beeping floors of an elevator.
A chain.
Grandmother’s wooden table creaking under forearms.
The shifting weight of walls.
Steam and drills and men.
A shower across the way.
