This is your room, but I am in it. This is your bed, but I am in it. And somehow I expect this must be your moon, but through the telescope or through the window, I am in that, too.The plants on the sill - I can name them. The colored glass on the shelf - I recognize it as once ours. The stories we relate, after six years of separation, are memories from a time we were children and in love.
Absinthe fireflies keep the mountain on the lucid side. Roadside phlox keeps the cave crickets paralyzed. The reason I loved you is why I will always love you. The moon dashes out of site, humid hillbilly paradise.
3 Comments:
You should come to MA. Your energy would feel good around this place. Time to catch up on the world.
Wonderfully poetic and poignant, Tonya. I cannot utter any more words than you already have.
Something about traveling and the high speed motion of living a well appreciated life always eleicites a poetic musing from me. Maybe I feel like specificity, though the goal of language, is also the trap. Like Japanese characters, I feel the more one word can encompass, the more accurate it is. Rather than the other way around. Now if I could only be the writer who could make that happen.
I've been in West Virginia, southern Michigan, Indiana, Illinois and now southern California in the past ten days, only to be called into Japan (tomorrow!) for a tap dancing gig. I remember this momentum. Motion is my queen.
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