I must remind myself,
And you,
Not to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders,
For good people all over the world are bearing it as well,
Even if we can’t always see them.
Close your eyes; feel the weight lift.
They are there; They are helping hoist up the good world.
Know they are there.
I thought I smelled the faint scent of chlorine in my hair,
Even after multiple showers.
‘Huh,’ I remember thinking,
I guess the summer days are not ready to let go of me quite yet,
Just as I am not ready to let go,
Of them.
‘Suicide is unique to humans and sets us apart from other animal species.’
So says the headline.
I sit, unmoved,
Unsurprised,
But thinking how humankind had better go back to the drawing board.
It is when I am normal that I envy the unhinged
And it is when I am unhinged that I envy the normal
Thank heavens I am a woman.
Sinatra plays
As I swim across the crystal blue pool
Tan limbs stretching out
Every which way
(I pretend I’m in a movie)
I push some water onto the pool’s edge
And rest my wet arms on the now slightly less burning tile
My eyes greedily take in the green Pines
Abundant and uniform in the best way, shooting up towards the cloudless sky
I push back away from the edge
And let my young light body float on the surface
Music muffled; skin pruning in perfect water
Now
Where does the water end and where do I begin?
Wet hair slicked back
Water dripping from happily exhausted limbs
I pull myself up the ladder
Step 1, 2
Feet padding across the hot concrete
The air
Once warm
Now cool; there is a breeze
Colorful towel
Wrapping around
As I sit with my floppy hat
And let myself crow crisp
(stick a fork in me I’m done)
I grease up again
Go to the bathroom – notice the sharp tan lines already present – come back
Write dark thoughts
Happy thoughts
Philosophical thoughts
All while watching the children:
Splash
Play
Show things to each other
“Jack! Go under water! I want to show you something!”
Little people disappear underneath the surface
Quite a wonderful sight for anyone who’s had baby fever since 12 years old
Then it is time to pack up and leave, until tomorrow
What a joyous time it has been
A gust of wind suddenly arises,
Whipping my auburn hair into my face and turning the pages of my notebook rapidly as if eager to reach the end of a murder mystery.
I hold my hand over my water glass to steady it and keep the unwavering wind from knocking it to the ground.
Here I sit: upright in the hammock, one hand on the water glass, the other on my wild notebook.
No hand available for my dancing hair, the wind carries it every which way.
I do not mind, for it is a warm wind, a friendly wind.
I gladly sit as I am – enveloped in its embrace – until it subsides and my objects no longer need taming.
I return to how I was before.
It comes back from time to time, kindly piercing the summer heat.
At times forceful, other times gentle,
It dictates the setlist of the chimes.
It makes some sound, and also none at all.
Tangible and intangible all at once,
Summer summer wind.
Dusk.
I sit on the creaky deck,
Watching them.
3 does.
2 fawns.
They graze greedily which makes me laugh.
I am careful not to scare them,
For – they do not know this, but they are filling my soul.
I think I may love them too much,
Too hard,
But I just don’t care; they are everything to me.
Thin frail limbs,
Incredibly alert ears,
Small quiet steps.
One stands on its hind legs and nibbles from a tree.
One boldly enters straight into the neighbor’s shrubs.
The fawns – new and spotted – drink from their mother.
I look at them with the most ardent, unwavering affection.
My book sits in my lap, unopened; I cannot seem to take my eyes away.
Suddenly they dart away as the sprinklers shoot on,
Only to tentatively make their way back moments later, to my relief.
I wonder suddenly what each of their fates will be,
Remembering that hunting season is not all that far away.
How anyone could kill these innocent quiet creatures is lost on me.
I force myself not to think about it and return to gazing lovingly at them.
Only when dusk has slid into night do I stand up quietly and slip inside,
Filled with love and quiet peace.
Hoping upon hope they will return tomorrow.
I love it here.
No one knows where I am.
I can truly just be.
On one particular walk,
On one particular day,
My eyes landed on the most gorgeous Petunias.
Strikingly vibrant and incredibly gentle all at once,
There they were in all their beauty.
And as I took them in,
The world sinister entered my consciousness.
For, upon my seeing the colorful flowers and admiring them in the warm summer breeze, my mind had plunged into overdrive.
Wondering how,
Just how,
War could possibly exist,
or any violence at all.
One human being inflicting pain upon another intentionally; it made no sense.
I could not square it in my mind: the existence of both dreadful violence and pink Petunias in the same world.
My mind rejected it, could not grasp such a concept, such a coexistence.
And that is why I paused so long at the Petunias,
Pensive and disturbed.
Sinister sinister sinister,
The dark word circling round and round my brain, as I stood watching them.
I walked home,
Marveling,
Incredulous,
Outright confused.
War and Petunias; Petunias and War.
I did not understand.
Violence and Petunias; Petunias and Violence.
I did not get it.
If perpetrators of violence and hate stood on that quiet street where I had,
Looking at the flowers,
Feeling the breeze,
Would they still be so moved to carry out violence on others?
I didn’t see how; for I had been utterly at peace as I stood there, and truly believed the power of the Petunias could do the same for anyone.
I guess I would never know.
That was that day,
That walk,
The gorgeous Petunias,
And the word Sinister.
How odd it had been that that word had reached the forefront of my mind so quickly.
Or maybe,
It hadn’t been odd at all.
