I have all kinds of stuff in the most personal, intimate space in our room, in our house: my dresser. I sort of have to praise this little area because it's the one space I have where Gera's things are dominant or taking over. Tools are in my kitchen on the floor, the dining room table is filled with papers: plans, sketches, books on wood, books on tiling bathrooms, books on spark plugs, wooden boxes of nails and screws, a compass, sometimes a whole, complete drill! I fuss; it's to no avail.
This little area, I protect from him and his innate ability to takeover rooms and desk space and a coffee table's beauty.
Most of this stuff was given to me by my great grandmother: The old pink vanity, the German clock (it still works--it rings out like a son.of.a.bitch!), the black minstrel face, the black ceramic mama and baby baby dolls in the back--they are so fragile and delicate--it's very weird, but they have real hair in their little heads and the baby one has real cloth diapers (they seem very Louisianian if that makes sense); a news clipping of my gr. gr. grandmother. I took the one of Jenn when she was only 2--I was trying to get her to do a M. Monroe pose. Lori gave me the little glass lady bugs--she brought them back from an Alaska trip with her sister and mom. My mother gave me the owl--he's pretty hypnotic, the clay elephant key chain. I have a thing for elephants--I have an entire collection. The ceramic colored one I bought at an antique store or garage sale; can't remember. The little yellow one was my grandma's. My step mother gave me the picture of my father's footprints in the Cayman sands during our vacation. The beautiful little girl in pink and green belonged to my grandmother, my mother gave that to me two years ago; she's an old fashioned lipstick holder and quite pretty! I bought the pregnant African woman at a UCDavis arts and crafts sale years ago. A kept a practice sketch from Gera--still life. And my favorite, the only perfume in the world I have ever worn: Nina Ricci's L'Air Du Temps.
Oh yeah and that upside down cup is what I pee in to test ovulation!
Dang, gotta stop here. It's Friday, students are needy!
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old