On the morning of Trans Day of Remembrance (sharing incomplete and out of time)
Dog-Ear: Nov. 20, 2023
11/20: I am desperate for sound in this house, and color, something to sparkle and excite the eye. I lay my head on the floor to meet my cat eye to eye, rolling in the sun. I admit to impatience. I admit to ambition reflecting the sun off a mirror, blind to the truth of how Now has been feeling - some insecure and still lonely, lost but not hopeless in loss.
My words return to me like butterflies in Spring, they do not last very long but beautiful, on a mission of life, only life. It is 10:45 AM and bright as midday. In my hands, dice of clay. A roll of six and three, an answer w/ no question. Ok. I am safe, I can catch myself here. I smoke what I can w/out a relight and pull the world to me. It looks like pushing it away. Now, I can look at it as it is around me w/out worrying about where I am in it. It’s just that worry that exists, otherwise the world never misplaces me as I misplace it.
The world stays here in my body until all I am is world & body, more earth earth in the ground ground. It is Trans Day of Remembrance, so Death is here at the table w/ me. Makes me get up and move around, consider lying on the floor, the space where my couch once was. Makes me consider turning my back to the sun just to feel her somewhere. I get up & sit in Death’s seat. I show it what book I’m reading, show it paint samples for the room upstairs, water from Goodwill wine glass, cobalt blue stem. I consider buying Death flowers. Death tells me to stretch more, to get used to growing, this thing of exhaustion.