Stumble to my feet already in another room through doors
Before I’m awake
Waking in motion
Saying something like Hi I’m Here and reaching
Pulling him towards
Smile automatic even if I wanted to kill him
A minute ago and a minute from now
Hold still
Or move
Walk us around liking the night in its composed blue
Count toes count fingers map the skin inch by inch
Any flaw any pain everything known anything new
By eyes by fingertips by sense of smell along every line
Watch the most basic thing intently without blinking
A long time while the time is there
Watch it: that thrum pulse along his throat
Means he does exist, alive and everything
Somehow that gratifies and somehow it hurts
But mostly that One Thing just has to Stay So
[bargain with God]
All of that is fine and makes perfect sense to me, if we're talking about one of these:
.
Otherwise, it’s a bit unfamiliar and unnerving. Which logically speaking sometimes generates insecurity as to how to proceed (duh). He says he’s immature. Thank god! Two introverted fond kindergarteners in an impromptu (glass?) tree house are evensteven. We hung a “Keep Out” sign, for instance, then stood there and wondered if it applied to us too. He says “I’m going on a trip [away]” -- to a different country, one that scares me (AH!) . . . . . And I try to simply walk into the next second but find that I just walked into that second through some kind of sharp sieve that turned me into itty pieces. Rule of thumb: Don’t lie. It’s one of the abstentions in any orthodoxy, a definite No No. So, well, come unglued briefly, try to be tidy about it, a modest pull-in bout of unblogging, no freaking out far flung nutty splatter pattern. DoyourbestLaLaLa
I take the kids to the pool all day, stick my legs in the sun, rub little squirming bodies with spf 45 while they bitch about it, adjust goggles bright orange for one bright green for the other, gleeful boy-Martians with water streaming off in ruts along their lotiony backs. Granola bars for snack. Peanut butter. A terrible Disney flick, which they love, when the sun is going down. Happy meals with chocolate milk is a comfort zone. I drop them off with their brine shrimp kits in tow. By then I know I just need to take a sadness-leak, slowly in a bubble bath soaking break aches and crying a little while. Calming Mantra: we’ll all be dead eventually and wonder what the big fuss was about over any one second anyway. [A very flawed mantra, a tide-me-over mantra, I’m looking for a better one since a single second and a moving vehicle could make a good reason to fuss (duh).] I get outa the tub and look in the mirror, realize I didn’t wash my face very well, a fuzz of blue smudged around my eyes and my face doesn’t look like my face at all hardly anyway, it looks undressed down to plain timid. I wake from dead-asleep just after midnight on my feet, half way down the stairs in my underwear and my instincts to answer the door.
hem - The part where you let go? (home again) [buy]
