Summer hit me like a fever. Swine flu broke when I was sleeping at an international hostel. I bleached everything, swabbed my nostrils with Neosporin and prayed. I returned home to a city blooming like a rash, met a kindred, aesthetic spirit and my heart soared into delusions of grandeur. Then, my doctor was shot.
Ever since, I have been shoveling a shallow hole in a sand storm, watching words jump out of me onto the screen, sweating in my sleep. Coked on water and air laced with human sloth—I weep until my lids are bloated. My thin skin’s bruising softballs for the season. I leave my windows open for angels to fly in.
Washington’s sun is a city-state, a warrior with a helmet and roses. Its foliage glistens, waltzes and howls. Its flowers—gorgeous, sophisticated, gleeful, mad, darling school children.
Recess.
I am wondering without abandon when the fuck the fancy pants on the congressional floor will situate themselves into a circle and talk about real things happening to real people right now.
Democracy. Salad bowls. Scarlet fever. Determination. Abortion.
HoooooooohHuhmmm.
Sad, touching, heart-breaking......Love, mom
ReplyDeleteyour words paint pictures as pretty as the DC flowers! Nature takes care of kindred souls like you...love ya!
ReplyDeletedad