(no subject)
One last night. I remember my first. Stumbling in the dark, tired. Over suitcase and suitcase and endless boxes and mattress and frame. Toilet running in the spare room and what-im-getting-into. The smell. The turned-around sensation that finds me in every new town, now familiar. The dogs and the kids that occupy this corner of town. Only this corner. Diva and her growlish non-barks. Her curiousness.
This song plays and my eyes spill, every time, ashamedly. Can't find my place today. Couldn't find my place yesterday. It's been some time. It will be some time. Push and stack and fit. Drive and drive. To those four arms and four legs and that hug so fully. And we don't have anything to talk about. For a couple of days. Hot days. To that sandy wet sun feel on my legs. Pantsless. Until then and maybe we'll escape like a year ago. (Quando en Mexico.) But this is different. Different and not. For a few days and then everyone will be gone and I'll still be running/swimming laps. Finish knitting the sweater I started two months ago, that I knit when she was here and we weren't so placeless, for a while. And read. About some great migration and something I can relate to, in days that I can't. In air conditioning. For 4 days and 2 off and 4 days. Until we find ourselves in our casita. And then and then.
My eyes spill again because I just don't know. Coming here it was the books and that test that I took on the one birthday we spent here. Two if you count the baby who I'll never see again in her first home. And after that it was elsewhere application and prospect and hope and the handful of friends we made. Now? Now. Now it's the sun, I suppose. The flora and the fauna.
And the relentless thirst.
Tell me how you sleep there, those basement rooms, that containment. Will I sleep soundly there, hot legs? Will I end up belly-up? Lost? I fear that those lost days won't ever find their way back. Endless loss. Endless summer.
We'll see.
Wait and see wait and see.
We'll see.
This song plays and my eyes spill, every time, ashamedly. Can't find my place today. Couldn't find my place yesterday. It's been some time. It will be some time. Push and stack and fit. Drive and drive. To those four arms and four legs and that hug so fully. And we don't have anything to talk about. For a couple of days. Hot days. To that sandy wet sun feel on my legs. Pantsless. Until then and maybe we'll escape like a year ago. (Quando en Mexico.) But this is different. Different and not. For a few days and then everyone will be gone and I'll still be running/swimming laps. Finish knitting the sweater I started two months ago, that I knit when she was here and we weren't so placeless, for a while. And read. About some great migration and something I can relate to, in days that I can't. In air conditioning. For 4 days and 2 off and 4 days. Until we find ourselves in our casita. And then and then.
My eyes spill again because I just don't know. Coming here it was the books and that test that I took on the one birthday we spent here. Two if you count the baby who I'll never see again in her first home. And after that it was elsewhere application and prospect and hope and the handful of friends we made. Now? Now. Now it's the sun, I suppose. The flora and the fauna.
And the relentless thirst.
Tell me how you sleep there, those basement rooms, that containment. Will I sleep soundly there, hot legs? Will I end up belly-up? Lost? I fear that those lost days won't ever find their way back. Endless loss. Endless summer.
We'll see.
Wait and see wait and see.
We'll see.