alone here in the home
sore eyes tender
a layer has been shed
I wake up early everyday at 6am for crying
my bed says only horizontal feelings
tear ear
stop thinking and go back to sewing
sew a thing pull it together stranger
I cant make it outside, so I open the door and allow the world sounds in
Buses whizz by, black crows cawing, air, music from rolled down windows, kids walking home, jogger feet, trees moving, sun happening
this opening
this is progress.
I wake up everyday and trace over the outline backwards and forwards
using every pen I can find in the kitchen drawers, in my purses, under the couch, in jars and left on the porch.
Every mark smells different. charcoal, fat candy markers, fine point sharpie, a freshly sharpened pencil.
the image is so familiar it unrecognizable
I am investigating
my face and hands come and go
in this state I am invisible land
horizontal still
in a human body this time
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
anatomy of loss
Vines cover this house in shades of transparent green.
Alive with air and small bugs and tiny suction cups- holding the crawly earth to the wooden box, hugging it, death grip tendrils woven around the windows like Kleenex box cozies.
When you are always cold you forget skin has the ability to relax, smooth across the driftwood bones like melted frosting.
They say lungs are associated with loss.
Breathing
the involuntary oxygen action
Loss
the involuntary suffering state
we never wanna lose a thing
even when we try and deny the feelings or affect
it's still gone, the thing that was lost that we no longer have
Lungs and Loss
why did my breathing stop
?
This house is a block tied up in the toe of green fishnets
inside here I am inside outside
I crank the heat all winter, spring and into summer in Seattle
I refuse to be homeless in my home
My lungs stopped working
when I lost my home
my mom
my self
my loss left me empty of air
for 13 years I have been trying to calm them, the spasming, heaving, aching, tight and terrible lungs.
When I lost it all I lost my oxygen,
they say it's the trauma
the organ
the actions
caused the
organ
to malfunction
I do much better in the heat
when the skin pulled across my chest radiates with heat
a heart inside a vine house gets hotter
lungs release and open
everything opens and one million tears pour out of the houses upstairs windows
the hot rain traces the vines cross hatching the home
when everything is open the furniture inside takes shape
one can begin to make out the color and patterns
it's all soaking and salty
but sturdy under that hot water
a few receipts and wrappers flow out the windows
and lodge themselves like paper flowers in the vine maze along the walls.
She looks like a lady in a dress.
People see it that way, beautiful, decorated, floral.
when it's hot the house breathes
the velvet cushions hold water year round
the floor is warped in a crimped hair kinda way
when it's hot my vine house gets hotter
there is water and furniture lodged in the lungs
the loss left them twitching
a salt water fish left heaving on the dock
flipping flipping then just
heaving
her lungs were loss
Alive with air and small bugs and tiny suction cups- holding the crawly earth to the wooden box, hugging it, death grip tendrils woven around the windows like Kleenex box cozies.
When you are always cold you forget skin has the ability to relax, smooth across the driftwood bones like melted frosting.
They say lungs are associated with loss.
Breathing
the involuntary oxygen action
Loss
the involuntary suffering state
we never wanna lose a thing
even when we try and deny the feelings or affect
it's still gone, the thing that was lost that we no longer have
Lungs and Loss
why did my breathing stop
?
This house is a block tied up in the toe of green fishnets
inside here I am inside outside
I crank the heat all winter, spring and into summer in Seattle
I refuse to be homeless in my home
My lungs stopped working
when I lost my home
my mom
my self
my loss left me empty of air
for 13 years I have been trying to calm them, the spasming, heaving, aching, tight and terrible lungs.
When I lost it all I lost my oxygen,
they say it's the trauma
the organ
the actions
caused the
organ
to malfunction
I do much better in the heat
when the skin pulled across my chest radiates with heat
a heart inside a vine house gets hotter
lungs release and open
everything opens and one million tears pour out of the houses upstairs windows
the hot rain traces the vines cross hatching the home
when everything is open the furniture inside takes shape
one can begin to make out the color and patterns
it's all soaking and salty
but sturdy under that hot water
a few receipts and wrappers flow out the windows
and lodge themselves like paper flowers in the vine maze along the walls.
She looks like a lady in a dress.
People see it that way, beautiful, decorated, floral.
when it's hot the house breathes
the velvet cushions hold water year round
the floor is warped in a crimped hair kinda way
when it's hot my vine house gets hotter
there is water and furniture lodged in the lungs
the loss left them twitching
a salt water fish left heaving on the dock
flipping flipping then just
heaving
her lungs were loss
Saturday, June 5, 2010
at home here
home.
From the perspective of the house, I can see it would be confusing, the beaten up wheels of the luggage always banging down the back stairs, the doors always slammed and locked.
Slammed and Locked.
leaving.
She talks so much about it, embroidered into her aprons and socks and coat tags. Hidden in love notes pressed between the pages like a butterfly preserved, corpse bookmark
It's always the topic she returns to.
A globe spinning, the little finger always seems to stop it in the same place, a little mark, like tracks on the yoga mat, worn out.
home
always the same spinning and stopping. a Smudge.
Homelessness can't be so terrible?? there are always trash bags and takeout boxes to be had- rain gear! dinner! what else do yo need?! Shoes with laces or without, and even CD players can be found just sitting around on street corners, by a bus stop, maybe an EZ-Boy...
I get why it could seem crazy even,
all the going.
You see the trim, the floor the spreads out like an ocean, the curves of the lady furniture, a white counter, a red glowing dot on the stereo.
It looks like a house. Solid.
Windows painted shut. The hum of a fridge.
She looks like a person.
Just grab that doll and stick her in the nursery, on the top floor, put her in the yellow crib and turn off the miniature lights.
She's in the house. It's a house and she's a person. Turn off the lights or I'm going to give you something to cry about.
Being inside is nothing.
floating
locks on doors that look like the necks of birds, beaks, painted and chipped, spotted birds.
horizontal
bare footed,
just leave her in the snow, on the boat with the sharks, just turn on the t.v. for them.
sell her lady furniture
put on another sweater if your that cold.
weave your hair into a basket, we all need to do our part around here.
home
she looks like
a home
I mean a person
There is such a nice view from this window. You are so lucky yo live here.
Everyone must be so jealous, you can see everything from here.
From the perspective of the house, I can see it would be confusing, the beaten up wheels of the luggage always banging down the back stairs, the doors always slammed and locked.
Slammed and Locked.
leaving.
She talks so much about it, embroidered into her aprons and socks and coat tags. Hidden in love notes pressed between the pages like a butterfly preserved, corpse bookmark
It's always the topic she returns to.
A globe spinning, the little finger always seems to stop it in the same place, a little mark, like tracks on the yoga mat, worn out.
home
always the same spinning and stopping. a Smudge.
Homelessness can't be so terrible?? there are always trash bags and takeout boxes to be had- rain gear! dinner! what else do yo need?! Shoes with laces or without, and even CD players can be found just sitting around on street corners, by a bus stop, maybe an EZ-Boy...
I get why it could seem crazy even,
all the going.
You see the trim, the floor the spreads out like an ocean, the curves of the lady furniture, a white counter, a red glowing dot on the stereo.
It looks like a house. Solid.
Windows painted shut. The hum of a fridge.
She looks like a person.
Just grab that doll and stick her in the nursery, on the top floor, put her in the yellow crib and turn off the miniature lights.
She's in the house. It's a house and she's a person. Turn off the lights or I'm going to give you something to cry about.
Being inside is nothing.
floating
locks on doors that look like the necks of birds, beaks, painted and chipped, spotted birds.
horizontal
bare footed,
just leave her in the snow, on the boat with the sharks, just turn on the t.v. for them.
sell her lady furniture
put on another sweater if your that cold.
weave your hair into a basket, we all need to do our part around here.
home
she looks like
a home
I mean a person
There is such a nice view from this window. You are so lucky yo live here.
Everyone must be so jealous, you can see everything from here.
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