Sensitive
10/4: I dreamt of possessive eyes on me like I pretend waking all the time (watched & looking right back at what’s possible). The stairs leading up covered by a sheer curtain and an iridescent shimmer. I dreamt a friend and I were on an adventure looking for nothing (nothing but what we were meant to find). I woke up wearing red and left a voice memo to my aunt who smiles the widest, running and working every day; I think she’s got some things to tell me about possibility.
The mud creeps up the coast and my friends get away this time, cities left devastated, sticky and brown. I call them and we laugh helplessly together, how you do when you look down at yourself, surprisingly intact & unbelieving. Em tells me what she had and what she missed, we plan to exchange survival kits for Christmas. The other night, I walked along the pier after a season of repairs, under water for so much of the winter. Decks and docks made of new wood, hoping it holds through next year. Thinking of the seasons’ change, I lean further in the sun to write.
My parents are up North now but heading back down South Saturday. Summer, a gushing thing. Now Autumn, getting back into its familiar place, accepted and dark. I insist this heart stays soft, soft & in flight. I have worked so hard to keep it this way.
I see my parents all silver spiked and stainless steel, wrought iron in the house and rust on their outsides. Like the storms along the coast, the rust creeps on the edges of life, the red eating thing that gets us all.