Monday, May 12, 2008

Times

This is the most inopportune time to write. But what are such times anyway-just big bends of constructed living, just ways to seem in control of turning suns that simply sink their teeth.

Maybe that is why I (oh yes me) am organizing. Why I am re-ordering the items of my room, when the much bigger things seem to be spinning and stopping, looking at me- awkwardly apologetic at chance.

Sometimes it really is ok-some things seem easy, even. Some emotions I let touch me, tough or tender, realizing only that I am accepting. That I am able not only to sip coffee and write it down, but also to dance, to seep in the satisfaction of sun, to laugh. I sleep when I am tired and wake without beckoning. I study some days for hours and others not at all. Sometimes I just lay on the lawn and rearrange my thoughts, bring him closer, or pull him out to ornately examine and ache for.

I have given up on the temptation of time, knowing only that it will all take time and that this is less than mysterious. It is only me-amongst my cardboard boxes, having dropped my gentle, fur-clad bear. Only me, still in certain summer dresses, still braided or curled or unbrushed in the morning hours when I have forgotten this saddest facet of fate.