Post eclipse
Not quite post apocalypse, but some things have been burned
I have vivid dreams
Snakes in the grass
Gliders and grounded weather, a storm up the mountain, so we hitch rides from a friend and meet at the dreamscape version of the local watering hole
Trips to the land descent
Then thunder, gray clouds
The feeling of flying, falling
Things alive, growing
Things about to die
The moment just before
..
Vivid dreams while the trees go brown
The light, a haze, soft but losing color
The garden a fading punch of palette, too much white mixed in
The monarch orange still
We see orange leaves and orange on the leaves
The cosmos and coreopsis that comes back when everything else is fatigued
Things that slumber
But five eggs a day
..
The eclipse season is over
A last effort monologue to a friend
Trying on the same sweater again that sits in a bag for the door,
I feel the sweet release in a breath
In running
And then lose the momentum again
It comes and it goes, and I only start to worry when too much time passes in between
The nightmares finally stop, I no longer fight demons awake and asleep, just awake
The window lets in a breeze
..
There’s a wake on the hill in the graveyard
Things I want to bury too, in the casket, with an unmarked grave, a gathering of people offering condolences and finger foods
Outsized reactions and outsourced emotions
The space that tightens with the feelings of others but wants to expand, to hold the outcry and the wound, a chorus instead of a concert
We all get a line and one song bleeds into the next
..
There’s a symphony of seasons
The sound of June’s nails against the pillow, the blanket, nesting
June’s deep exhale when she finds the right spot
The high pitched shrill of the chicken in my hands, unsure and yet wanting
The thrum of bugs and crickets, so loud and then it stops, and then it starts again
Cars that drive by
The curtains blowing in the wind
The crunch of dry leaves
The sound of a heartbeat
The sound of your heartbeat
..
I find that real love is honest, the urge to talk things through outside in the grass
Years of love and it still surprises me, the little things will romance you the most
Broken bits of planning ahead glued together with witnessing what’s here, alive, changing
Finding words or an image to mark the moment
There are so many of them, I want to keep them all and weave them into a never ending quilt
I don’t know how to quilt and my knits are crooked at best
..
The eclipse season is over, but I’m still finding snake skins in the tall grass
Six feet long
One in the garden shed
One in the shed by the camper
Shed, the slivers of exterior that remake itself so the insides can re-sort themselves right
I feel my own skin shedding
Hair left in the shower, nail clippings, washing my hands, and putting it all to rest
There are some things that need to rest
It’s a good time to put things to rest
