DAWN

Dawn

I was born.
I saw a few things.
I wrote some of it down.

I lived for a little while, as we all do,
and I will die, as we all will.

I’m happy that I came out of
nonexistence
and saw the sun
before I go back.

Birthday

came out of the bookstore onto carson by comma coffee.
had an old paris review. cost me $5.50. not bad.
some paintings by woody guthrie were on the cover.
i couldn't read it. i was too crazy.

the guys in the bookshop were laid back and friendly. we'd talked a little.
the kid'd been sorting books, pulling them out of boxes.
he asked the older one who isadora duncan was. there was an old autobiography.
the old guy said he couldnt remember. "she'll know," referring to me. 
i dont know why he said it,
but he was right, so i told them who she was.
then i went out and walked. i had to hurry. 
i had to tell everybody the big news. 
i felt mad with it.

i stopped outside a restaurant. people were eating on the patio. 
good a place as any.
i had to tell everybody about my baby.
to tell the truth, i was kind of dizzy. too much excitement all at once. 
out of the blue, so to speak.
i felt like my whole body was vibrating. sizzling. i was infused with light.
i looked at the people. i looked at their plates. i looked at their decanters of wine.
they were just stuffing their faces and staring at their phones.
i had to wake them before they faded into nothing, there wasnt much time left for them.
they were killing themselves with gluten and sulfites. the phones were frying their eyeballs. they sat there talking too much and saying nothing.

well, i was gonna talk
and i was gonna say something.
i was gonna scream it at them.
and just like that i did.

ONCE UPON A BEACH

A toddler with blonde hair stands on sandy beach facing the camera, while a man carrying a blue boogie board walks toward the ocean in the background. Several people are swimming in the waves under a bright sky.

It was just another day. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in awhile. Not that a while of time means anything.

People forget things. I forget the details of my life, but not the people I shared it with. My memories come and go as they please. Each day brings back travels and restaurants and movies and love. I wish I was capable of curating my life.

It was August. I was 22. Today I remember a walk from years ago, leading to a spot on Kauai’s beach. The west side. I had just married Jay. Our wedding night was the start of our honeymoon. We stayed in a tall hotel near San Francisco airport. From our room at the Hyatt, I watched planes take off and land. Planes full of strangers, coming and going. The next morning I was one of those people.

The memories stayed. In the days that followed, Jay and I got married just 24 hours later. We flew to Oahu, changed planes, then flew to Hilo. My grandmother told me, go to Waimea. It looks like Ireland, she said.

My grandmother’s advice was strange, but she was right. I’d been to Ireland. Waimea had rolling green hills. Standing there, I felt peaceful and restless at the same time. The blue sea behind the hills made me think of old dreams. It didn’t look like the lower Big Island. There were cows, and small houses scattered in the grass. The place felt Celtic, and that comforted me, but it also reminded me how far I was from home. We drove our little rental car with the air conditioning too cold. The cold helped settle my nerves. When we stopped, the heat outside surprised me. It was nothing like Ireland, where the cold seeps into your bones.

A few days later, we flew to Kona and rented a white car. We drove to Kiahuna Plantation. We spent ten days in a small, clean ground-floor condo. The kitchen was to the left of the door. The living room was straight ahead. Past the loveseat, sliding glass doors looked out at the backs of the beachfront condos.

We didn’t have an ocean view. It didn’t matter. We walked around the green pond. It was small, but it reminded me of us. Not flashy, but quietly there. Some things seem unimportant at first, but they grow on you. We reached the sand and the ocean. Above us, the blue sky.

I was 22 then. Now I’m 46. I live alone. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, but I remember the greenish dish towels in that condo. Worn, but clean. The bedroom was a step to the left. The bathroom, a step to the right.

Jay broke his back on that trip. Not, as he liked to joke, during honeymoon shenanigans. He was just body surfing in shallow water and injured his lower back.

He said he’d heard a crack in his lower back.

On the flight home to San Francisco, I knew Jay was in terrible pain. He’d traveled all over the world, and turbulence never bothered him. But after we buckled up, I saw sweat on his neck. He was hurting. Even then, he smiled at the flight attendant.I sat next to him, helpless. My heart pounded. I tried to hide my fear with a smile, just like he did. That helplessness made me feel closer to him.

I don’t remember what I ate the night before. Maybe I didn’t eat at all. Reflecting on our honeymoon, when Jay was 33, I trusted him completely. He smiled even when things broke, including me. Trust is beautiful.

But always , there are more strange truths.

Me and my kid hanging out on the Half Moon Bay Coast.

listen.

this is important.

when she looks at you you know what you are.
its not easy to take.
its an unaccustomed sensation.
it is a deep current. her eyes wake it in you.
it is something from our deepest core. it is where we all came from.
before so many things happened.
before we got wrong ideas.
before we became liars and cowards and brutes.
before we lost our colors and faded.
before we became cardboard.
before we learned to hate.
before we knew doubt. back from when we flew like birds.
she looks you in the eyes and you remember yourself.
you remember who you are.
you see who she is.
it hurts but it has to happen.
you come out of your own stomach.
if you can see her, really see her,
you give birth to yourself.

nobody else has eyes that can do that.
only her.
only her.
this is a beautiful and pure truth.

The Brain — is wider than the Sky

My 6th Grade Brain Assignment

Every day, exponentially expanding, are my thoughts. I then forget them. I have a room and all I see are things I've collected over the past two years. Yarn and knitting needles and more colored pencils and more yarn and. . . and the rest is mine, my things. My things fit into a box. My small purse and my three backpacks. My two photos of myself and my son. My flute. My ancient tv, on which I watch Friends and Sex and the City. My old bathrobe. 

My photos are in my old house, where my son still lives. We were sitting on the sofa, the sofa I chose with my husband. As far as I know, my ex husband, my son, and the new wife still sit on my furniture. 

My things represent my life because they are my life. My life is in this room. My blackout curtains block out the back of a giant satellite dish. It overlooks the pool five stories below. And across the way there is another giant building with the exact same apartments housed within. Each has a minuscule balcony that nobody uses unless someone is smoking. Sometimes I smell cigarette smoke from the twenty-somethings who live next door. On Saturday nights they play rap. I have never met them.

What's familiar to me are my knitting needles and my yarn. I know people I see on my decrepit television. I know when the tv finally dies I won't have that. I try to focus on what I do have. Still, less and less do I have any wish to bother.  But, I'm still a writer. I still have that.

I want to finish the hat I'm knitting for my son. I want to finish something. I wanted to finish my life, but I haven't and I won't. When I die I hope there's something good to do. Something to finish. 

I have memories, and I want to talk about them and, more than anything, I want to see them. I want to go on a drive through Hope Valley. I want to buy a sandwich at the Genoa Store. Then, I want to drive to the Playa and get in a truck. I want to drive into the desert and find hot springs. I want to smile and drive that weird road that seemed to go nowhere. It had nothing particularly memorable about it, except that it was old. There was a town with a Smith's, a gas station, and an old church. I want to see those things. I want to see a sunset from my own porch. I want to make toast in my own kitchen with my own dishes. I want to drink water from a glass I remember finding at a thrift store. Instead, I'm just sitting in this room. The dark curtains hide an outside that means nothing. I'm looking at Facebook and seeing familiar faces. I'm confused because I have no reason to make new memories. I have no way to do so. I have no relevance and nothing I see is relevant to me. I'm a million miles away from anything familiar and I'm driftless in my sky.

The Brain — is wider than the Sky
Emily Dickinson, c. 1862

The Brain — is wider than the Sky —
For — put them side by side —
The one the other will contain
With ease — and You — beside —

The Brain is deeper than the sea —
For — hold them — Blue to Blue —
The one the other will absorb —
As Sponges — Buckets — do —

The Brain is just the weight of God —
For — Heft them — Pound for Pound —
And they will differ — if they do —
As Syllable from Sound —

A person with short, pink-tinted hair and glasses is wearing headphones and a hospital gown while sitting in a hospital bed. Medical equipment is visible in the background.

Or Maybe Midgets

I’ve Got A Theory

They say it’s a FINE line
between love and hate,
Pleasure and pain,
Jesus & Satan
Buffy & Spike
He lined it up for me, with a credit card, at its limit.
Just a little bit of afterglow
Snorted off dusty white
Desert gold dust
enlightening my nose,
clogging my brain—
My BRAIN. If only—
If only I knew then what I’ve forgotten now. 
Dogs and protesters and coffee pecks and specks of nicotine
Bunnies!.
Baked Ziti: Anger, distrust, manipulation: 
Burrata cheese.
When he knew me, I wasn’t equipped to know he.
I didn’t have a stake to stab my own head.
I had a knife, but it was lost in my pocket
A person needs a stake, metaphorically, etc.
in a situation like that—
stabbing is the only thing that works.
Just ask Giles!
ground zero of my life. 
again
Sometimes, just for a few seconds of eternal minutes,
When I wasn’t crazy,
and when he wasn’t a bit hazy
and when one of us wasn’t—wasn’t. 
We were—
We were—

BUNNIES! BUNNIES! IT MUST BE BUNNEEEEEEES!