april 2015

April 6, 2015

Sadness this morning. Sad eyes without thoughts to back them up. Just there. Physical. No tears. Just the feeling behind the eyes. The opening and closing of ducts. Close the eyes. Shut my eyes to feel it. Accept it. Take it in. This is me right now. What does me feel like? What collection of stories am I right now? What is the sound of my voice right now? Who speaks and who talks. Coffee mouth. Register that. Focus only on that coffee. That liquid. Where does me end and coffee begin and back again. One to the other. Breathe into my eyes. This is now, this morning.

On my back in the yard of my parents house. Late afternoon. Sun falling behind the pine tree. Branches taper towards top. Patterns against blue sky. My sister next to me laying also on her back. My partner standing, drink in hand. Blonde with curls. Flower dress. She smiles. Our son plays with a giant blue ball. Our niece, his cousin, chases after. My sister’s husband is there, and our parents. Their voices. Smoke from a fireplace.

April 7, 2015

Dreamt I was a ghost. Waiting for people to open doors so that I could pass through. Can’t go through a closed door.

We wake early. Too early. Dark out still. Awoken by her alarm clock mistakenly set to the radio. She unplugs it in a hurry to shut it off. Too late. He wakes. Too early. Dad, can we get up? He whispers next to me.

No. I groan sigh mumble. It’s too early. Doze on and off for another ten minutes while he whispers unrecognizable sounds.

Dad, he whispers. Can we get up? Yes. But I can’t play yet, I can only watch something on the couch, okay?

Then he says, Today, after school, I will come home and have a snack and I will eat dinner and we will play and then I will go to bed and it’s mom’s turn and then i will sleep and when I come in to this bed I will sleep good and you can sleep more.

I am overcome with emotions once I realize what he is saying. Sympathy and wanting to help. Empathy. I am happy. You are a good boy. I say and kiss him on his head. Let’s go. Listo?

April 8, 2015

Laying in bed, listening to my family breathe. Her occasional snores without rhythm. His breath through his mouth. The cat between my legs, I am pinned. Snot running down the back of my throat. Every breath I have to swallow. Every swallow clogs my throat. Viscous breath. An itch in my throat. Snot coat and raw throat. Listening and periodically turning my head. One side. the other side. Pull the blanket over my mouth. My nose. To warm the air before I breathe it. Listen. Fall asleep.

April 21, 2015

We rake the dead stems and stalks of last years flowers and plants. Now dry husks. Pull them out by hand. Cracking them at the base. Heaping a pile of them in the yard. My son trampling them, then saying they are snakes. He and my dad are on a safari around the corner along the side of the garage. my son finds treasures. Metal wire, frames for landscaping, now without context. A glass decorative bulb buried in the ground. These are treasures. We are looking for treasure, he says.

It had been sunny and mild earlier in the day, but afternoon brought heavy clouds and a cold breeze. Drops of rain.

Cleaning the yard. My dad shows me how to get rid of weeds, creeping charlie, he calls it. With a spade.

We pile the dried stalks and stems in our metal fire pit adn I drop three lit matches in. Smoke gouts in three spots then flame. Instant ash and embers. Some carried in the wind with clouds. My son and my dad adding sticks from the yard. My dad shows him how to break the sticks up. Using both hand sto push one end into the ground until it snaps.

I add a few more bundles of dried stems. Each time the flame erupts around the bundles my son says, whoa, and stands at a safe distance throwing twigs over, around and sometimes into the flames.

The smoke and rain and cold clouds transform the evening from spring to fall as we sit on our couch looking out our windows.

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