Things That Made Me Cry (or at least tear up a little) this Week:
Making oatmeal.
Watching Beyonce’s “Lemonade” for the 47th time.
Driving on the interstate with my window down, and my arm weaving its way through the morning air’s complicated machinery while Regina sings, and I wonder if we ever see our downfalls coming.
The thought of hugging a manatee.
The Ada Limon poem where she writes:
“But love is impossible and it goes on
despite the impossible. You’re the muscle
I cut from the bone and still the bone
remembers, still it wants (so much it wants)
the flesh back, the real thing,
if only to rail against it, if only
to argue and fight, if only to miss
a solve-able absence.”
Standing in solidarity with Standing Rock, on a corner in downtown San Diego with my sister. Listening to traditional prayer songs, and Water is Life, and how glorious it feels to be alive and basking in the unity of its protectors. The strength of the human spirit, and the fact that there are still people who give a damn in this world.
Vodka. A hammock. The time/space continuum. The sound of a voice and the weight of missing.
The Ada Limon poem where she writes:
“...How good it is to love
live things, even when what they’ve done
is terrible, how much we each want to be
the pure exonerated creature, to be turned loose
into our own wide open without a single
harness of sin to stop us.”
A crippling hangover.
The finales of not one, or two, but three different seasons of television. How it felt like saying goodbye to the only friends I have out here.
Watching Murphy sleep.
Mission Beach at sunset, and how the light looks on the water, everything glowing rosy pink. The sun through the inversion layer. How it rattles on the horizon like a white pill the ocean swallows every night, but still never sleeps.
Feeling lonely the way that lonely must be.
-b
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