tickfaw
even nature trails carry you above the swamp, looking down. cypress knees, the trees' knobby lungs, stick up like satirical stepping stones. it doesn't look like it, but you'd sink between them.
i was supposed to go to a meeting today. hours long. i couldn't do it. instead, i took the highway on NIN's Downward Spiral. found my way to Tickfaw State Park. a few seconds into the swamp, on the elevated path, i see a bright redheaded woodpecker and can hear more drilling all around me. birds and insects chirping and vibrating. an ant has investigated my elbow and the page i am writing on. i can see the curiosity in her quivering antennae. here, i am foreigner: a refreshing position for me. no longer an outsider in NOLA, i'm in too deep; i had to escape. the city is a vampire, and i am only another familiar. i don't want to forget the crunch of leaf, buzz of wasp, flutter of wings, the awakening of my senses. i sense myself falling in love. that uncontrollable slide. my fear a thrill. ink flowing down through my shoulder and out clutched fingertips to pen. i can't live without this; i've died too many times, ignoring my instincts.
antennae like microprocessors; spiders like ghosts; woodpeckers like gunshots; a wasp purple and gold, like a Mardi Gras fairy or an LSU football fan; moss like royal carpet.
the paths, man-made, all gaze and circle back.
i was supposed to go to a meeting today. hours long. i couldn't do it. instead, i took the highway on NIN's Downward Spiral. found my way to Tickfaw State Park. a few seconds into the swamp, on the elevated path, i see a bright redheaded woodpecker and can hear more drilling all around me. birds and insects chirping and vibrating. an ant has investigated my elbow and the page i am writing on. i can see the curiosity in her quivering antennae. here, i am foreigner: a refreshing position for me. no longer an outsider in NOLA, i'm in too deep; i had to escape. the city is a vampire, and i am only another familiar. i don't want to forget the crunch of leaf, buzz of wasp, flutter of wings, the awakening of my senses. i sense myself falling in love. that uncontrollable slide. my fear a thrill. ink flowing down through my shoulder and out clutched fingertips to pen. i can't live without this; i've died too many times, ignoring my instincts.
antennae like microprocessors; spiders like ghosts; woodpeckers like gunshots; a wasp purple and gold, like a Mardi Gras fairy or an LSU football fan; moss like royal carpet.
the paths, man-made, all gaze and circle back.