a long time ago, but not long enough ago that hearts weren't broken and girls weren't afraid, a philosopher told me that the next great task belonged to me.
i knew of what he meant, but i assumed death would follow, a great task that was to the point and ceasing. it was only last night in the soft air of five a.m. that i realized that my great task was this incredible being growing in my belly. i had begun building, and my job wouldn't be done until i could contribute to the world what has been taken from us. the next generation is beneath my belly with the hiccups.
a fantastic feeling to know that my husband and i can not only create together but build as well.
i began a small traveling last night. the night on the porch in austin when a opossum tried to chew my toes. back to a smoky bar, in which i first met my dear friend, josh. trying to remember what the armchair looked like, the one that kate and i transported via T in boston. a china cabinet, antique and well-laden, full of books. and how seth's room was always the smallest room in the back that drew all of the people.
occasionally, i would try to sleep, but i felt as if someone were awake with me somewhere and needed my comfort.
people who cannot create or muster any joy for another's life event ...
well, they need to be dealt with.
if only i weren't so tired.
skulking around in the back of my closet, and i keep dreaming of something that looks like the bowels of the past. but instead of paying attention or paying no mind, i sit there and listen while it scolds me, while it tells me that i'm always wrong, while it tells me that it hopes me and the future are very happy together.
and i don't mean to cry when that song comes back to the chorus, but it sounds like something that i used to call home before it burned down. before it became the ashes i tattooed into my skin.
