First Grade

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“Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. I am in first grade, with a pretty knapsack and a lunch she packed me, and first grade always made me cry. “But I want to stay with you.” It was, to my five-year-old self, the most dramatic thing that I had to spend the whole day away from her, and I didn’t understand it. “You’ll be home soon.” -- “Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. It’s a habit that, as a twenty-something year old woman, I pretend I had grown out of. I’m sitting on her couch writing poetry – a piece from San Francisco that would one day become a friend’s housewarming present – and airplanes always made me cry. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.” “You’ll be home in a few months.” None of us could have predicted a fucking pandemic that had probably already started, or known the next time I’d come back would be almost two years later. -- “I told you not to cry,” but I know she is also crying. She has stage four colorectal cancer, and we both wrote a piece with the exact sam...
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The World Fell on it’s Collective Ass

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I used to have expressive eyes. Perhaps masks are the world’s unifying feature. Perhaps they make pretty little mannequins of most of us.

I am on Zillow looking at houses. What the heck am I doing at one in the morning, with a sink full of dishes dating through Tuesday, looking at houses? A sky-blue door, I think.

I wandered everywhere yesterday. Drexel and Penn and South Philadelphia, talking to myself like a well-dressed lunatic, trying to discern the direction of my life. Don’t you also, at some point? Don’t you think aloud because words feel slightly more substantial than unspoken thought? Don’t you also speak to just defy the silence? (To justify the silence?) Perhaps I am the only one to wander past three shuls at once and watch the ones who used to stand there. Has everything changed, or has nothing?

I sleep too much and rest too little. People are desperate. Mannequins are liars.
*
π·π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ 𝐺-𝑑,

π‘Œπ‘œπ‘’ π‘˜π‘›π‘œπ‘€ 𝐼 𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑒𝑑 π‘šπ‘¦π‘ π‘’π‘™π‘“ π‘–π‘›π‘‘π‘œ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘π‘™π‘’ π‘ π‘œπ‘šπ‘’π‘‘π‘–π‘šπ‘’π‘ . π‘‡β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ 𝐼 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘Žπ‘™π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  π‘—π‘’π‘šπ‘ π‘“π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘‘ π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘› 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑑, π‘€β„Žπ‘’π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘ 𝑖𝑠 π‘‘β„Žπ‘Ÿπ‘’π‘’ 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑑 π‘œπ‘Ÿ 𝑓𝑖𝑓𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑛 β„Žπ‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘‘ π‘šπ‘–π‘™π‘’π‘ .

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘Ž π‘šπ‘Žπ‘› 𝑏𝑦 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘šπ‘Žπ‘ π‘‘π‘œπ‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦, π‘Žπ‘π‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘Žπ‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘€π‘–π‘‘β„Ž π‘‘π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘π‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘›π‘  𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 π‘›π‘œπ‘‘ π‘˜π‘›π‘œπ‘€ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘Ž π‘€π‘œπ‘šπ‘Žπ‘› π‘€β„Žπ‘œ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘’π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ π‘šπ‘’ π‘‘π‘œ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘£π‘’ 𝑖𝑛 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘ π‘›π‘œπ‘€. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘ , π‘Žπ‘‘ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘šπ‘œπ‘šπ‘’π‘›π‘‘ 𝑖𝑑 π‘Žπ‘™π‘™ 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙 π‘‘π‘œ 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠, π‘Ž π‘”π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘™ π‘€π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘‘ π‘π‘œπ‘€π‘π‘œπ‘¦ π‘π‘œπ‘œπ‘‘π‘  π‘€β„Žπ‘œ π‘π‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘ π‘€π‘Žπ‘™π‘˜ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘”β„Ž π‘€π‘–π‘›π‘‘π‘ π‘‘π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘šπ‘ .

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘Ž π‘™π‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘ π‘œπ‘›π‘”, π‘“π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘š π‘™π‘œπ‘›π‘” π‘Žπ‘”π‘œ π‘™π‘Žπ‘ π‘‘ π‘¦π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ, π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ 𝐼 π‘›π‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑒π‘₯𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑑𝑒𝑑 π‘‘π‘œ β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘€β„Žπ‘–π‘™π‘’ π‘‘π‘’π‘Žπ‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘π‘œπ‘šπ‘π‘Žπ‘‘.

𝐼 π‘˜π‘›π‘œπ‘€ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘¦π‘œπ‘’.
*
If I wear a mask, I can walk through where I once lived. If I calculate the distance and do not cross the line, I can look into your eyes. Mine are caked in mud, I think. Up to my left eyebrow. I fell into a creek looking for the world again.

Perhaps I found pieces of it.
*
“We can’t all be like you,” she tells me. “Most of us are stuck in the misery of it. We haven’t found the beauty.”

Beauty? Darling, I fell so hard I didn’t recognize the pieces that remained. It is only because I trust you that I showed you what I found from falling. Is that beautiful?

Perhaps it is.

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