A new Post of an old Writing

I told you that in my throat I felt a thickness
In my throat, our lives
sharp roof tops and honeysuckled honey and cream and sugar of salt and whiskey that they drink
They drink separately miles apart
They live with imaginary friends
Ships sailing opposing grounds without the breeze of this evening
No more music of them or music of their colors of red and snowfalling white and lanolium floor coating
Of kisses on the hand
And punches to the jaw I sewed back in my nursed vicariously fanstasized mind
Because we can’t swallow
Sourness disinigrates our teeth and we don’t call those people that wait for our voices they pretend they
Recognize
Because the numbers are stuck in the condensation and the heaviness of these days and hours in the fog and dark fog that they put you in
And I’m getting older too
And now I should understand and they should too and
What the dictator of passing time allows is only this
Grudge
Grudging teeth of grit and ore and wafered bread and half touched wine
Driving north to a place of escape with como estas bonita senorita
And capes and watered streets of enlightened empty encounters
To complimate the radiant side of finding people who you must replace with imaginary friendships when they are gone.
Finding a place of placement in every place you go you go to find these new
Families
We find we make we consolidate and protect and neglect and reject
In embracement of the souls between, the space between we find heavenly and sweet heavenly space to swallow.
We can swallow around the lumps and folds of fear of losing of regretting

Burlington, VT 2006

a year of new

the new of the year in hours, or more, a year of new words, new seeings, new touches, new bellow laughs and new sunsets. a new finding of the simple days of waking when dreams are over and the belly aches for nourishment, wakings where the day meets you and sleeps when the stretch of the day swadles you in sheets.

to begin the new year.
yes.
things of new:
1.) a cradle for sorror
2.) a kite of reveling
3.) a sheet of soaking
4.) a beat for dancing
5.) a tree for carving mind's melt
6.)______________________

rain sounds

It sounds like the critter that used to run up and down our rooftops that summer we lived in the cabin. No electric wiring, no connection to anything external, to ourselves. Today the sleet slides and shimmies and the white carpet of the ground bewilders me. As though, I don't remember the season that is upon us. Do I feel this every year? Midwest, flat heart, not a sleet/rain pitter patter. Tonight I wore my Nana's cameo necklace and all the stranger friends who danced with me loved my jewels and, Mary, the older woman who sat beside me earlier, between her man-friend and I, to watch her granddaughter perform an African dance performance after mine, told me about her loves and her loves lost and the continuous Swedish dance of her days. The rain in her eyes reminded me. The loss will not dissipate,but the drops will turn to flakes in time, and cover and fill the emptiness that follows. Continuous movement- of thoughts- of body- of energy, this woman told me that she doesn't see an ounce of anger in me. She said I onlly had good love to give to others. I want to believe her. At the moment, with stagnant eyes, dry and drowning, there's an ache. To keep a step, to keep the walk in the sleet and the snow and the rain with those who kept the stride before and for those who will keep the stride after me, I will move along. I will keep dancing.

Expertise

My first day of expertise. I'm beginning to find, through my studies, through my meetings of new people and observations of new situations: expertise is a frame of mind. No one person can be identified as an expert without their consent to this level of referral. An individual may be deemed an expert, but the pivotal moment of their acceptance or declining of this naming decides the longevity of their honorary value. Today, sitting in the hospital clinic room with a 7 year old girl in a hot pink sweat suit and her loving family members staring and watching my ever move... I waited. Through drawings of hearts and stories about playing computer games... I watched her small back. Eventually shifting to my view, I got a smile. I got a smile from the youngest person I would encounter all day. After hours of speaking to physicians and nurses and people who spent years writing and reading and testing themselves and testing others and publishing their work, I stepped into a room with the wisdom of a 7 year old. She brought me back to the wisdom of simplicity to the foundational roots of what makes each person in this world human. Feeling. And she reminded me of the essence of human interaction. feeling. It was the moment she smiled at me and drew me a heart on my pad of paper and told her mother she "could stay with 'the doctor' Emily" while the rest of the family went to dinner... or better yet... asked me to join the family for dinner at Hungry Howie's that I had recieved, all the validation in the world. If I could help a crying small girl with her back towards the world invite me to Hungry Howie's, I've got the ability to alter Feelings. I've got something. worth. giving. I have got. expertise.

out with the new and in with the old

A flight to Michigan brings me in around 2 a.m. I slept for some hours, bought car insurance and hit the road to Vermont. Arriving at 6 a.m. brother Brian wakes moments before my arrival. It is surreal to be back in a place of great nostalgia and old memories. some worth forgetting some new ones arriving with an old friend's hand held tight and firm. I will visit a few more friends before I am en route back to Michigan for school. Mentally preparing to sit and read and sit and read and write and read. Trying to filter what becomes stagnant in my mind.... A kind transference of warmth from my work in Toronto. This is what I would like to keep in memory for everyday wholeness. My fingers are eager eager and aching to move across ivory keys and build upon the song I wrote for sister Geechie-Bum and my heart aches to connect with a new child a new friend. It is wild the comfort that a stranger, a moment alone does for a feeling a safety. An enigma to me and ever so true. The wonder in what can be new, what is yet to be found. "We were a silent, hidden thought in the folds of oblivion and now we have become a voice that causes the heavens to tremble" Khalil Gibran.

warm and fresh

A trip west with new found friends that we met on the road, at their gigs. An upright bass player and Spanish/English/Portugease singing phenomenal woman. Ana B and the Heartbone(s), Bronwyn my friend friend Toronto and I became quite the family. swimming and canoeing around Emerald Lake, Lake Louise, breathtaking scenery.... we finally all made it to Vancouver, after the band van breaks down, kind strangers to help, we arrived to meet my highschool pal Ali and found a new family-German and French and had days of silly silly. In the moments where language can be a barrier... we can all find ways to connect. it's powerful. Today we road bikes around the park peninsula that is Stanley Park, ate fresh, wild, warm blackberries, crawled inside tree trucks... besides the sun burning me as I fell alseep today and the popped bike tire.... these past 2 weeks, this trip, has been glorious.

ROcky mountain

in alberta. banff. running into the same faces. over and over. and climbing new mountains and finding new envisions of what a day could be. torquoise waters and snowy tops of peaks and peaks of delight and happiness. good to be out of the city, the hustle and bustle and movement. to gentle conversations and rolling around in grass with dancing drums and blissful people and the freedom of the road that nothing compares.

love to all of my specials out there. i think of you in folds of rocky canadian mountains and caves of memories.