Some days are hits, and some days are misses, and today was a little bit of both. Some hits are the crack of a baseball against a bat, and some hits are a slap a universe gives your face, to see if you’re still alive. The good news is, I’m still alive. Sometimes a miss is the whoosh of air an opportunity breathes as it … Continue reading 1. the good news
The doctor tells me that magic is just undiagnosed science, as he slides a wand into my throat to see my body from the inside out. He’s hoping to find a piece of me that tells a better story than the whole of me. He’ll take it with him. Lock it up. Fill it with potion and spell. Get a reading. I think that everyone … Continue reading 10.28 magic & nano
I don’t know what I want to say here, only that I hurried to get my laptop because the feelings were starting to feel like friction. This year has dragged me over the carpets, and sometimes it is fine, and sometimes I am a bumble of lightning. I’m afraid to shock someone, afraid to sting them even just a little. . . . I’ve been … Continue reading journal 8.14
Last night I scraped the back of a foot against city pavement. I didn’t fall exactly, I just … drifted. Gracelessly. It didn’t stop the night. When I woke up today, muddled by morning, my scraped skin sang to me from a tower of bandage and pillow. Operatic wails, reminding me that the song of healing requires an admission fee of patience. I am always … Continue reading journal 8.7
I like to tell my heart to people. I like to tell people it is a towering, limping beast, fighting to get to you. Yes, you, whoever you are. My heart used to leave cavernous footprints and now it is a ghost of giant, but still a giant by all measures. Inside the feral thing is a busy city under a desert sun. The ground … Continue reading autistic, like heart
Lately, my heart cries its way down my left arm, tears full of nickel and nettle. A quick ride on a search engine tells me the right words are “sudden numbness”, but I know a dripping-sad when I am one. Lately, my yawns stop short of finishing and I bite at the air like a baby dinosaur, a baby that’s been hungry too long and … Continue reading journal 7.4
On the ledge of my kitchen, my marigolds die from the heat. (Crumpled bouquets of papered-orange splintering from the weight of too-long days.) This will likely shatter my bones, too. (Please save all the pieces. Give them away. May the sharp of me be used to pick the locks, and free the people.) I am tired when I wash the outcry of marigolds down the … Continue reading i will need you soon
When the sun rises, my neighbor’s dog barks silently, spinning with noiseless joy. I love like this, too: heart-loud and surprised. Again and again and again. Continue reading today i read things my late husband wrote
rarasaur 