Grief is light, I tell myself in the middle of another sleepless night. Sometimes I try to keep myself grounded but it is impossible when you hold so much light, when you are so much lighter than air, so much lighter than light. I think I could float away. I think I could be a star– just look how my name has collapsed into a … Continue reading grief is
I’ve drank more alcohol in the last couple weeks than I have through the whole pandemic combined, which for the record is still less than two glasses a day. I hung up on my therapist for the first time in our years-and-years long arrangement. I chew my way through gummies (legal here) to get any sleep, to eat any food. My plants are dying, and … Continue reading content warning + ramble warning
I haven’t felt like myself since Kozo died. I wish this wasn’t true. He wouldn’t want that. I wish I was better at grief. I’ve had so much practice, and yet, here I sit: dimmed. At his memorial, I cried through my reading. I really thought I could make it all the way through, but I was talking about emptiness and fullness, and how life … Continue reading on grief-dimmed joys
Sometimes the road seems paved, but you still slip through. You leave a crack in the flooring and think, I’ll get to it, but then you don’t, and then time flaps its gargoyled wings and the crack becomes a pothole, and you fall in. Today, I fell in. I sobbed in my bathroom for awhile, watching my face contort into something truly mythical. The way … Continue reading the scream
Once there was a panda, and he was attacked by a leopard. A much beloved shepherdess came to his aid, and though he survived, she did not. The pandas came to her funeral with armbands of ash on their all-white fur, but as they sobbed and hugged, and rubbed tears from their eyes, and covered their ears to give themselves peace from the grieving, they … Continue reading endangered
I measureour distancein habitsI break. They ask: “when?” I saylong enoughI’ve stoppedhunting zodiacfor fish. When they askhow long,I say:so longI zipmyself up. I measure our distancein memoriesof muscle. They ask: “when?” I sayso recentlyour handsstill tryto touch. When they askhow long,I say:I spinthe ringI buried. I measureour distancein boneand body.They ask “when?” I saytoo long.His bodyis ashwithout me. When they askhow long,I say: A heartbeat.A heartbreak. … Continue reading measures
Today people shared that the word of the year for Collin’s dictionary is lockdown, and I wonder what other dictionaries will pick. It seems like a reasonable choice even though lockdown will always mean something entirely different to me. In California state prisons, lockdown refers to the time when the prison effectively closes, and all incarcerated folk are back in their room. Lockdown happens at … Continue reading lockdown mouse
I walk every day because one time I went to prison, fractured my hip, and then five years later had surgery to correct it. Now it’s a mandatory part of therapy. If my body did not ache when I skipped a walk, I would not bother. I’m quite content to watch the outside from the inside, or to go outside only to sit on a … Continue reading floof
rarasaur 