Author: sat

I notice a hole in the hardwood floor, a gap to the space below, rooms with light coming up– and then I see more holes, scattered, worn by walking– and it occurs to me, viscerally, that this floor is undependable. I try to imagine a way I might fix it– and there’s even a guy downstairs who might do it for me– but really I’m leaving this place, so I don’t much care.

there’s a channel of cool fresh water outside, and my friend and I go to swim in it– it’s like a living snapshot of a river, just this little piece framed by concrete and then the rest flowing in and away at either end and out of sight– all we can see is what’s right here, bright and clear and in motion. I say, I’ll bet it would be good for lap swimming— and my friend gets right in and goes to work swimming against the current– which is strong, and she struggles. and me? all I want is to get in and ride that current away.

I’m watching a whale rise from the water– it’s blue-black and round like a cartoon whale but big as life and alive. I want to touch its rubbery, resistant skin.

I’m standing in a kind of gigantic hall– a confined space– I think maybe I’ve fallen to the floor from higher up. the ceiling is midnight-, deep-space- blue, and when I look up, I see swarms of airships darting far above– so many it’s boggling. and I turn and ask the person beside me, “are they always up there, above us, and we just can’t see them in the light of day, in the natural air? are there always so many?” and the person beside me says, “yes.”

my dear friend has died. I’ve gone to the seaside town for the planned-celebration-turned-memorial– and I can hardly bear it. I can’t stand to be alone, but there are queues of people lined up to pay their respects– I avoid all that and seek out our mutual friend who’s keeping busy hosting a gathering. I’m having trouble finding her in the crowd and collapse in the shadows, overcome by grief– she finds me by my sobbing. I cannot believe or bear it that our friend is gone. I don’t know how to continue– everything that was right before now seems entirely wrong and out of whack. how can all the world just go on as before, now that she’s left it?

I’m walking around my sister’s house in her absence– there’s some immense, imprecise sadness– someone missing, dead? gone? something. there are rooms after rooms, and I’m amazed by the size of the house– just when I think I’ve tapped it, I discover a staircase to an upper level. the place is full of furniture from our grandmother, and I’m a little peeved that my sister has ended up with so much of it– but this isn’t real envy– I don’t actually want any of it myself, I’m just kind of awestruck by how put-together and grown-up and stylistically coherent and large my sister’s house is. she’s a new mom, and I’m trying to help with the baby but don’t really know what I’m doing.

there’s big destruction threatening– something huge and irresistible– at first it’s unclear exactly what, and then I look out the window and see a king kong monster headed my way, the ground trembling with contact shocks. it’s scaling a building down the block, and I realize there’s no way to hide. then I look again and realize it’s just a lion escaped from the demolished zoo and on the loose– and I think, well, there are surely more, other big cats, carnivores, wild animals, all roaming the streets. I’m scrambling onto a moving train car when the lion catches up with me and fastens its teeth onto my leg– I try to shake it off, but it’s attached with an unbreakable grip. the most important thing is that I board this train– so I just pull the animal up after me– and see that it’s no bigger than a domestic housecat, tho all claws and teeth. I take its frail neck in my hands and squeeze and twist until I’ve throttled it. this takes a long time and is very personal and immediate, and I’m a little horrified by my own brutality. but the point is, I’m safe now.

I’m sitting on the wood decking around the water courtyard– the water flows beneath us, but in the wide square at our feet it’s shallow and black against the bottom– decayed leaves and mud, probably, but the water above clear. the person sitting beside me is covered in soapy foam– it just sprouts spontaneously, or I suddenly see it. I begin scooping water by handfuls to stroke along the arms, rinsing the person’s smooth skin clean while they sit still and patient for me to do this work– it never occurs to me that they might rinse themselves– it’s a kind of care-full tribute. the arms go well, but when it comes to the face, I have to carry the cupped water such a distance and turn my hand at such an agle that most of the water slips away and it becomes little more than a caress along the the cheek and jawline– in the gesture love grows.

[working from both ends to catch up with my journals– so if things seem to be appearing haphazardly from months past or suddenly, today, that is why. this is the consequence of emerging from my most recent, and periodically necessary, tuber phase.]

I’m painting my neices’ white dresses red.

I’m visiting my ex-boyfriend’s mother’s kitchen– she’s a russian jewish immigrant and there’s byzantine folk decor on the walls, jewel-red and gold on shining black– it’s a matched set of planters, mirrors and small hanging fountains, and it’s the sound of the waterworks I focus on: how soothing the chorus of trickling water is.

we’re going to board a train– the doors are closing, and my companions hang back while I make the leap– I don’t quite make it before the doors close and the train begins to move forward, picking up speed– I’m wedged in a kind of entryway alcove and hanging on, heart a-beat– I know I need to be careful with my feet, not let them get caught in the wheels or the track and pull me under– I feel weak and unsure I can do what I need to do: reach up for the doors and swing myself inside. I gather a deep breath, calm my heart, and slowly, carfully manage just that– and I am safe inside the train, hurrying along on my way.

there’s been an accident in which someone is killed, and after they’ve taken the body away, I pick up the nose, which is lying on the concrete, having been severed. I wrap it in a couple of paper towels and take it home and put it in the refrigerator in the back bedroom of my parents’ house, which has been set up like a little apartment. but after a couple of days there’s a bad odor that begins to permeate the room, and I realize I have to get the thing buried. I actually don’t really notice the smell too much, living with it, until I invite some friends over and they leave because it stinks. so I go sneaky-scouting with a small shovel around my parents’ back yard in search of a good place to dispose of it. not in any of the gardens, I decide, because they or their dog might dig it up– maybe back along the fenceline behind some bushes… but no, the dog would still be a problem. and then it hits me, the perfect place. back in the corner of the yard stands a rock pile– actually a stack of old paving slates– that I used to climb on to peek over the fence at the neighbors behind– and by this pile there’s an old buried canister for disposing of dog poop, leftover from my childhood, ages past. so I climb up on the stack and pry off the rusted top of the canister and find it full of curled black leaves– perfect. so I start climbing down, but this time go around the tree that’s grown up since I was little and down the far side, which looks nearly like crude steps– only once I put my weight on them, they begin to wobble and threaten to avalanche, me along with them– so I grab a branch of the tree and swing around it, and the sensation of elevation and motion is so refreshing and empowering that I go on effortlessly swooping my way down the bole of the tree.

back in the house I’m suddenly running late for my flight out, and my parents, who are driving me to the airport, won’t let me dawdle. halfway there, I remember the nose in the fridge, and my stomach does a panic-flip. my mind races. before long my parents will smell it and then find it and then, oh lord. I have to do something. we’re driving along the detroit freeways when my father simply disappears– there’s just nobody at the wheel, only my mother in the passenger seat, who turns to me with weird calm and asks, are you about ready to take over? so I hurriedly climb over into the driver’s seat and fix my hands to the wheel and my feet on the pedals. the lanes are windy and a little precarious– beside me a jeep flips onto its side, but I safely maneuver past it. I start explaining to my mom about the nose, how I came by it and how I’d planned to dispose of it and how I need her to take care of it for me when she gets home. unlike my dad, I feel I can confide in her– the only problem is I’m not sure she won’t forget the whole thing as soon as I’ve gone– she’s never been very good at being responsible for things– but to be fair, at least in this case neither have I. I’ve totally flubbed it and am not even sure why I picked up the thing in the first place. in any case, at this point it’s out of my hands– I have a plane to catch.