Jul 8
i want to sit next to my sister - we do not have to say anything --- do I recognize her as a near 30 year old? - i want to stop and curl and curve my body like a little conch shell - i want to hum like the ocean - the songs of infants - the hands of grandparents - i want to laugh on my death bed - surrounded by bugs and bees digging deep into pollen cradles, clawing and rolling in dust, rocking wind.
i want to braid my sister's freshly washed, cool, clean turquoise green hair. it feels like it has been years since i did something so simple, so caring. i want to sit and weave it until there is almost nothing left, but the silk aqua rope i can run my fingers down like water. i want to thread the pieces over and under my heart strings. she is the earth, the sky, the moon - the altars of rocks - the shapes we see in them.
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i dreamt of a woman sleeping - she was made of sand - she was off the shore of new york city --- before the sky scrapers, streets, pandemonium --- with purple kelp for hair. she was so beautiful - a sand bar, as big as a dune, beneath a thin layer of sun-warmed translucent water as open as day. she was silent, laying like a fetus on her side under the waves. i swam to her, held in on the loose sand like an anemone. \\
i want to sit on a warm rock in the sun - overlooking the valley, the lake, the blue mountains. i want to be the Appalachian air - i want to do nothing - but to live. i want to listen and dance and run and flow - join a coven, scale a cliff. i want to talk to the night, watch birds and find mushrooms - follow magical, mysterious things. oxblood berry juice runs down my fingers.
filling the bath up to the overflow drain - i want to fix the faucet. spaces became smaller, memories overlap and forage in Michigan forests. the sprawl and creep - moss inches glacially over our backs. the spine remains on the island, the bogs embalm. i sit sweetly, cross legged, twisting my hair around my finger - thinking of pebbles as road systems, sycamore and sumac houses. the quietest, mildest evening sunlit place you could imagine bathed in green and gold, grace - lit and heaven - struck. a place of peace, calm, warm.
i am thinking about the sound of the stream through the house, how we always can choose simpler. i want permeable walls to the sunrise - to rain sounds - to the crickets and cicadas and spiders - to the smoke, the fog, the mountain laurel. wild raspberries are wisps of cadmium red on raw canvas. ducks fade in and out of graphite and watercolor drawings against the sky // buoyant on the pond, hawthorn and mugwort dreaming.
i want to see the flickering rainbow lights, sit on a fairy's wing. sway and jump and spread my arms wide - wide - wider - up - up - and up! iridescent, shining, on a beam of light. i am lighter than air, i am the essence of light. the memory of time.
a copper suncatcher eye, a fragmentation through a lens. i want to sit - i want to rest and run backwards in my mind - upside down and through the channels of plants - tracing each petal of a daisy. the circulatory system of green canopies. i want to turn off and on again, i want to be shocked and taken to the sea.
the patterns take me, the colors soar. i sit and feel the love from everything. it is tangible, weaving itself between my fingers like yarn.
uncover my soul, tell me it is real? i want to make - i want to remember - i want to plant, eat, grow. i sit and revel at it all - my motherhood, my sisterhood, their daughters. the womb, the darkness to light to the peat.
to live in a spiral bound sketchbook, in my great grandmother margaret's wooden, hand-painted pencil box. i would make the memory of her love my home. the piano keys float through open kentucky windows to the garden.
i tighten the knot, the bread rises in the corner of the kitchen. i live in a place where i am but i am not - the story is told, i put together the pieces differently. the forest shatters, i'm holding a piece of the mirror from 3 years ago. it shimmers, cuts, fades, dissipates the bass neon jungle throughout the night - i find it all incredibly comforting and dizzying, being made of love to love to be loved.
the moon phases - arcs - dips - dives - toward you - through you - glowing, resonant, alive //\||
i want to braid my sister's freshly washed, cool, clean turquoise green hair. it feels like it has been years since i did something so simple, so caring. i want to sit and weave it until there is almost nothing left, but the silk aqua rope i can run my fingers down like water. i want to thread the pieces over and under my heart strings. she is the earth, the sky, the moon - the altars of rocks - the shapes we see in them.
///
i dreamt of a woman sleeping - she was made of sand - she was off the shore of new york city --- before the sky scrapers, streets, pandemonium --- with purple kelp for hair. she was so beautiful - a sand bar, as big as a dune, beneath a thin layer of sun-warmed translucent water as open as day. she was silent, laying like a fetus on her side under the waves. i swam to her, held in on the loose sand like an anemone. \\
i want to sit on a warm rock in the sun - overlooking the valley, the lake, the blue mountains. i want to be the Appalachian air - i want to do nothing - but to live. i want to listen and dance and run and flow - join a coven, scale a cliff. i want to talk to the night, watch birds and find mushrooms - follow magical, mysterious things. oxblood berry juice runs down my fingers.
filling the bath up to the overflow drain - i want to fix the faucet. spaces became smaller, memories overlap and forage in Michigan forests. the sprawl and creep - moss inches glacially over our backs. the spine remains on the island, the bogs embalm. i sit sweetly, cross legged, twisting my hair around my finger - thinking of pebbles as road systems, sycamore and sumac houses. the quietest, mildest evening sunlit place you could imagine bathed in green and gold, grace - lit and heaven - struck. a place of peace, calm, warm.
i am thinking about the sound of the stream through the house, how we always can choose simpler. i want permeable walls to the sunrise - to rain sounds - to the crickets and cicadas and spiders - to the smoke, the fog, the mountain laurel. wild raspberries are wisps of cadmium red on raw canvas. ducks fade in and out of graphite and watercolor drawings against the sky // buoyant on the pond, hawthorn and mugwort dreaming.
i want to see the flickering rainbow lights, sit on a fairy's wing. sway and jump and spread my arms wide - wide - wider - up - up - and up! iridescent, shining, on a beam of light. i am lighter than air, i am the essence of light. the memory of time.
a copper suncatcher eye, a fragmentation through a lens. i want to sit - i want to rest and run backwards in my mind - upside down and through the channels of plants - tracing each petal of a daisy. the circulatory system of green canopies. i want to turn off and on again, i want to be shocked and taken to the sea.
the patterns take me, the colors soar. i sit and feel the love from everything. it is tangible, weaving itself between my fingers like yarn.
uncover my soul, tell me it is real? i want to make - i want to remember - i want to plant, eat, grow. i sit and revel at it all - my motherhood, my sisterhood, their daughters. the womb, the darkness to light to the peat.
to live in a spiral bound sketchbook, in my great grandmother margaret's wooden, hand-painted pencil box. i would make the memory of her love my home. the piano keys float through open kentucky windows to the garden.
i tighten the knot, the bread rises in the corner of the kitchen. i live in a place where i am but i am not - the story is told, i put together the pieces differently. the forest shatters, i'm holding a piece of the mirror from 3 years ago. it shimmers, cuts, fades, dissipates the bass neon jungle throughout the night - i find it all incredibly comforting and dizzying, being made of love to love to be loved.
the moon phases - arcs - dips - dives - toward you - through you - glowing, resonant, alive //\||
festivals w rainbows and sisters another time another life in trees
