there was no newspaper on the holy day. plenty of fellowship and coffee at the church of aa. there were not any usual stores open but seven eleven. a woman stood barefoot in the cold as people came and went. dissociated she did not respond to any caring voices. what can be done? in a couple of months the sacramento bee will be phasing out newsprint on saturdays. times change and yet i hope for things worthwhile, that they not fall off the margins.
many of the people the world has written off for dull have the brightest spirits, and shine
out from the darkest places where their bodies have been relegated
You were an endangered species, out of it, staring into your bowl of green seedless table grapes. And the weather outside was frightful. I asked you again about the backyard, and you said that you didn’t grow up there, your eyelashes were too long. Nat King Cole came on the radio and I suddenly felt safer than I really was. You took out your personal fork and stabbed a grape dead. I could not make sense of you, all I knew was you had no manners and a predilection for round juicy fruits. I picked up my pen and wrote a letter to the devil, carefully, on a soft cotton sheet of medicated Kleenex… dear Satan, could you please make a home for our homicidal lady of the table grapes?
|k when k was k circa 2012|
Softened life on quiet streets today. All the bad news backed into shells and shadows or sank into the mud for a second. I stuck mostly to my routine, after and before I spoke with my family over the phone. Now the past may be the past and the future, the future. But not today. This afternoon I spoke with my family. Then the morning became a golden dawn. Then an evening, alone. A holiday. Coulda been sad I coulda been sorry. Weighed against the afternoon’s words, I was given meaning and washed it through my hair. I smile cause I’ve been made who I am, again, the lucky kid.
I still wished the clock would stop and give us a chance to breathe but time preferred to kick ass, drag our hearts around, and mine kept getting snagged in the pricklies or thumped down some steps or stepped on by a bunch of children runnin’ blind for milk and cookies, kick the can around the parking lot for fun, ran up some stairs and dropped from heights to see if it would bounce or explode, or what, and either way sure was hell of a good time, I swear, when you have my undivided attention, guys just stand there and step on it, suddenly great theatrics, entertainment, and maybe even a bloody mess.
When you care the most, when they have you, you can get heartless. Winter never wanted to be so icy cold. It just had to. Yes I will warm it up with some Charlie Brown Xmas cards and long live snail mail. The post office is my second favorite living museum behind the bookstore. Some millenial stopped me yesterday sayin’ wait, you mean people still do that?I was thinking, wait, did you just say that? Never liked sending cards when it was the thing to do, and now when it’s going out of style I’m intent upon it.
These songs, without words, arise in my head. I gotta put words to them. I was chosen. I was chosen for the in-law unit out back. Where is she? She’s in the shadows, we don’t see her much. She’s in the periphery. She’s part of the goddam scenery, dontcha know? She produces something fierce! You shouldn’t bother her, really, she likes to be left alone and do what she does. It’s something magical, I suppose. But you won’t make much sense of her, she’s not exactly on the planet anymore, everything is dissociated, tangential at best. Maybe her heart got caught in the blender one too many times, ya, it’s a bit of a tragedy. They told her but you have so much to offer just one too many times. Her potential rose up and bricked her in the head. She’s not quite there, but we love her just the same. If she would only let us.
the turnaround http://www.katyamills.com/2014/12/the-turnaround.html
Non-fiction by Katya