Trying To Fill A Full Cup W/Tea
Writing is fighting the rising tide… our inability to tell anyone anything of what it was like to be us in that moment, to be there, then. The fumbling early attempts at communication in the kitchen w/a mother who loves you, but doesn’t understand. The frustrations of wanting to get away forever.
Now some of us live in a place where the antique streetlights never go out because the skyscrapers overhead block the daylight. We think more of a dropped cherry Slurpee bleeding out painlessly on the sidewalk, or the lovely Christmas lights in the one tree we pass on the walk home.
&, of course, some of us still till the earth w/our feet & our lives. We should talk soon. Wine country blues.
ps. recent strange dream about a mirror: i study my reflection in the glass, twisting a hundred different ways. ‘isn’t it weird to be a thing & exist in a physical world?’ suddenly a car approaches at a terrible speed. ‘am i on the highway?’ somehow i jump clear of the path. in the mirror, though, i see my reflection is hit & carried away. for the first time, i peer into a mirror & do not see myself staring back.
