leave me to pray

you know. you know.

you know, as far as your eyes can see. you know. windswept plains, cityscape, subterranean cavern, cumulus cloud, as far as your eyes can see, you know. the i-5 corridor, parking lot, hawthorne, lumbering jet, rental car.

there is ice forming. long thick forearms of ice bulging from the eaves. blue sky, grey sky, night sky, northern lights. northern lights. new planets, dying planets, ringed, space debris. you know. you know. polar bear, flock of geese, girl child with frog hat, red cheeks, it's so cold. paw prints, snow. branch bending bending and you know.

this horizon. this landscape. build me a shack and leave me to pray. fly me to the moon. take my hand. kiss me in the rain. smile at me like i am the most special thing you've seen all day. build me a shack and leave me to pray.

leave me to pray holy holy and thank you god and thank you mother and thank you swirling planets, unfurling plants, bear tracks, blue sky, thank you.

leave me to pray and i will turn my head east for rising sun, south for dark shadow noon. turn my head west and i will prepare for sleep. leave me to pray and i will turn, every time, i will turn north and say thank you thank you thank you for this gift of facing death and trusting in my rebirth. every time, i will turn my face north and trust in my rebirth.

you will know me then, upon my rebirth, and you will know me then, you will know me then.

build me a shack and leave me to pray. face toward the sun, moon, shooting stars. you will know me by the iron honey of my my rebirth. you will know how desolate the landscape.

(freewrite: you will know how desolate the landscape, 14 minutes)

never was a little girl

I've lost the box of my growing-up pictures.

There's the possibility I might knock over some box somewhere in this process of moving. I might knock over a box and find the secret hole in the floor where this most important of boxes has fallen. Or maybe I will find the story of its disguise. For now, though, I am preparing for a fresh loss of memory.

Saying goodbye to this house. The fruit trees: plum apple fig. The blackberries. The birds. The view from the bedroom. Love. Saying goodbye to this short walk shorter drive. This home of trying so hard. Of leaving. Of staying. Splitting open shrinking down. That hummingbird. The peregrine falcon she insists I did not see. The raccoons the opossum. That mouse last week. The geese (good morning, girls.) The stranglehold brambles. I will bring the hammock with me, but where will it go? Show my bloody fingers and take a deep breath.

I strike the pose. Mug for the camera. Come too. Come with me.

There are so many ways to tell this story.

(journal entry, 2008)