(no subject)
there is this lack of certainty now that the wait is gone. i promise to pick up the phone next time. i feel i need to write about this but i'm not sure how & yes i knew she was smiling on the other end of the reciever but--oh god my blood would have drained from my ribcage--just one blink my insides would be emptied.
it is different from before. you know this.
the first time you were kneeling on a stage as the crucifix rose to the beat of electric guitars. you knew it when it happened & you cried like saint phillip would've cried & it was okay cos you were encased in the harshness of spotlights. but seriously you believed in something then & you knew it existed in places you couldn't see--a fragil breath of wind, the soft movement of a loved one's hand, the halo around the moon.
the second time it happened in the spring. you couldn't go upstate so you stayed awake, miles of telephone wires away, staring at a screen, your face shrouded in that steady glow. this made you believe her presense was still alive somewhere. everytime you past a small fenced in garden or you heard in the distance a train's mournful sigh, you swear she was still here--you could feel her heartbeat through the soil.
& you expected it this time. still the thought swells in your skull. you remember passing crumbling mountains sides, the way the plastic tubes sprouted from every limb, the view of scattered rooftops& chimneys under the hospital room window. it's selfish, you know, but the difference now is that you are afraid. you recognize that death is not a solid thing but rather an absence--heavy & intangible. you walk across the earth knowing that there is only dirt & bones & weeds beneath your feet.
i know that i'm part of this. i watch the steady decline, wait for something to make my fault lines tremble. one of the last things he heard was my voice-- those empty vibrations struggling through static-- & i just hope it was enough.
it is different from before. you know this.
the first time you were kneeling on a stage as the crucifix rose to the beat of electric guitars. you knew it when it happened & you cried like saint phillip would've cried & it was okay cos you were encased in the harshness of spotlights. but seriously you believed in something then & you knew it existed in places you couldn't see--a fragil breath of wind, the soft movement of a loved one's hand, the halo around the moon.
the second time it happened in the spring. you couldn't go upstate so you stayed awake, miles of telephone wires away, staring at a screen, your face shrouded in that steady glow. this made you believe her presense was still alive somewhere. everytime you past a small fenced in garden or you heard in the distance a train's mournful sigh, you swear she was still here--you could feel her heartbeat through the soil.
& you expected it this time. still the thought swells in your skull. you remember passing crumbling mountains sides, the way the plastic tubes sprouted from every limb, the view of scattered rooftops& chimneys under the hospital room window. it's selfish, you know, but the difference now is that you are afraid. you recognize that death is not a solid thing but rather an absence--heavy & intangible. you walk across the earth knowing that there is only dirt & bones & weeds beneath your feet.
i know that i'm part of this. i watch the steady decline, wait for something to make my fault lines tremble. one of the last things he heard was my voice-- those empty vibrations struggling through static-- & i just hope it was enough.