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I was thinking about reclaiming the elephant. Reclaiming red. About the documentary I viewed of elephants migrating, dying of thirst. Elephants that paint. Elephants in rooms. Vampires who call themselves elephants in politics.

My friend, Alexis, gave me an elephant key chain on new year's eve. I needed one because I lose my keys or generally forget them often. We are detached. Just last month after all these years, I finally succumbed to the locksmith who in all fairness sawed my knob right off and in half. I hung my bras on the other side. They lay in a pile when the door swung open. Bravo.

I lost my keys again last week, regardless. This time they dropped into a booth and despite my best effort, I could not retrieve them. My three keys and the silver elephant are buried in one of the top-ten dive bars in dc, in mount pleasant, perhaps forever.

Another dear friend, my oleander, gave me a buddha head in a box for winter solstice. She wanted the buddha at first but the buddha wanted (do buddhists want?) me. She went back for an elephant for herself. Oleander is reclaiming the elephant. I'm chaining my keys to my tongue in 2009.

Currently reading:

The Kin of Ata Are Waiting for You

By: Dorothy Bryant

Release date: 1997-03-25