But the bittersweet. A list of things I will miss perhaps:
Bacon and raisins for breakfast, Saturday night Karaoke, art everywhere, artists everywhere, the genuine cool of Justin and Harlan, their smiles, sweet dogs, that haughty orange cat, the Gihon River, David's sharp observations and sincerity, standing and singing on the bridge, cool rainy days, fresh baked bread at lunch and dinner, ginger ale all the time, Adam's wit, Mike's eye rolls, everything about Susan, being a big kid, bedazzled vaginas, the hair trigger on the hot water in the shower, the nicknames, the dance parties, the cemetery, the gentle teasing, the goodness, being a sweetheart really, being a delicate flower, lighting up David's life... I will probably miss most everything.
I might be able to carry some of these things with me. If I didn't get a chance to write to you I apologize, but the summer is still young and I will write you from South Bend even if you are also in South Bend.
Yesterday Kathy asked me who I had just fallen in love with. I had a hard time thinking of one specific person, so many of the people I have met here have been amazingly formative to my growth as an artist and a person. I have a true abiding affection for these people and this place. I hope to know and love them for a worthwhile. If I'm allowed to say so though, I think the person I have most fallen in love with is Sade. People have been telling me about her for years, but I never really saw it... I see it now like I've never seen it before. As I was telling the Summer Lover earlier today, I even find myself loving, and if not loving then completely owning those things that drive me batshit crazy about myself, those things that feel unbearable to bear and to bare.
Enough about me though. This morning after breakfast I went on a walk with Lily. We walked to and through a cemetery at the top of a steep hill. We talked about various topics, noticing the names and dates and words printed on the headstones, their shapes and what they were made of. We laughed among the dead, we spoke their names, calculated the years they had lived. I thought I would like to have a headstone that read only "laugh" when we wondered what it would be like if the cause of death was chiseled in stone instead of the family name. I told her how I wanted to have my cremains planted with a tree seed and for lovers to carve their initials into my bark. We found a marker that read "Ruth Green Mould, Artist--Lady" and we decided to end our walked there and turn back, sensing that we wouldn't encounter anything that read that perfectly. To be remembered as an artist and a lady, how grand.
So maybe you are curious about my foray into summer love. I've decided that until I tire of it the summer is the only time I will ever allow myself to fall in love. As someone who falls in love practically every other day I think this is fitting. Summer love in its very name implies brevity and is seasonal. And when I say "fall in love" I mean this in a completely frivolous manner. I have the rest of my life to take myself too seriously, if that is what I choose to do. But I will only be in my twenties for five more summers after this one. So I got rid of the secret wedding playlist I've been compiling for over a year. And the Summer Lover has suggested that we write to each other, seeing that I love to write, I have agreed and addresses have been exchanged. Beyond that I don't foresee romance, but I was excited by the experience, the candidness it inspired.
My writing this month. I came with a plan to plow through the manuscript, his & Hers. I hope you won't be disappointed to hear that the month took me in a different direction completely. I'm working largely on a series of poems I call Dream Machines. So far I have three sets, at about six or seven prose poems each. They captivate my attention because I am loosed and playful writing them, I play with the sound the meanings of the words, manipulating images, finding poems in conversation, in dreams mostly, in what is in front of my eyes and shoved in my ears. But I haven't abandoned Jean Davide and Salvador, I spent time researching the minute details, sketching their character, eavesdropping on their conversations.
When I told David my precious pilgrim that I had been nicknamed Caterpillar, he agreed citing my fear and dislike of change and love of smoking. But now I think this Caterpillar is well on her way to morphing into a butterfly.
"And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?"
Mary, yes, yes, and I'd like to think so.
Location:Pearl St,Johnson,United States
No comments:
Post a Comment