You have nothing to be ashamed of, whatever it is that they mock you for, it is also them; There is nothing that belongs to you that is not also theirs. The streets are hungry and the alleyways hungrier still, and you will find in your own way that language is only yours and that miles divide us what is right here next to each other. So don’t be afraid to stand on your own. Don’t be discouraged that they have what you seem unable to possess; if it is possessable at all you too already have it. Whatever it is you fear that you are, in solitude, alone, know that it was made right here in the interconnectedness of all things, in this world. Whatever you fear you have made others into, know that you have that capability and choose to make things well;
i had a daydream then,
as i was being drawn to the noose
someone in the crowd yelled,
it was so vivid
as echoes on the old stone walls.
the rope squeezed
and i realized
i’ve been traversing
inside my own mind,
while running the treadmill.
They talk and they twist memories out from the aether, spin- ning them over and again into new dramas — three-headed destiny each one sheds light; a spotlight of information. They are like one mind thinking over the past forming opinions, laughing at long- forgotten disagreements finding new ground to stand on
It’s lunchtime and here I am sitting in my van parked in a grocery store parking lot, blowing my nose in a used napkin. A napkin previously used to blow my nose. Homemade vinaigrette sits on the dash in hopes that the December sun is heavy enough to break through the overcast and liquefy the coagulated coconut oil. It won’t. And I realize that if I were sitting in my Prius, instead of my work van, I would satisfy so many generalizations right now; with my pony-tail, writing poetry, drinking kombucha. Maybe I don’t need the Prius after all. Maybe the Prius needs me. And the high-schoolers yell at each other across the parking lot, desperate for attention, while the stay-at-home moms sit in their vans, just a little longer, enjoying the silence that comes from an afternoon car-ride nap. If I listen closely, the trafficswells become fingertips of the ocean, trying to pull me back into Her, while the douglas-fir gently wave goodbye.