lightning whip

If I write about this time, does it make it more solid? Last night, the rain created a sinkhole under the flagstone on the patio. We have to be careful where we walk. The dog doesn’t seem to notice. Almost like he’s moved beyond trivial matters like stepping into sinkholes. Just slinks around it gracefully like a whip.

What I want to say with mixed hope and fear is;

You might have been made on a brilliant day of thunderstorms. The power went out and we found two candles in the messy closet. He built a warm fire, and we ordered pizza. Ate it with smiles as our pretty window grew darker and the trees pulsed neon green. We listened to Adam Sandler sing /I Wanna Grow Old With You/. There was a bit of red wine. And sweet old Ryker couldn’t hear the claps and booms. Just snored peacefully as we watched the lightning across the new sky.

I keep thinking of the way there is always a new lesson inside the old ones.

I see a past partner at a gathering and am surprised by the ability to become strangers with the people we once knew. He was wearing a blue striped shirt with pearl snaps that I found years ago in a Montrose thrift shop in that Houston heat. The one where I piled denim high, and they weighed it for a price. Two pairs of good Wranglers and that old blue shirt for 6 bucks. That was the summer I made myself lose a baby and decided to never again learn old lessons.

My husband says that I carry a backpack of heavy around with me. That I jostle it, and each memory gets mushed in a way that doesn’t help move anywhere. He says my socks are all mismatched inside. There will be a day, I say to myself with mixed hope and fear, that I will set it down and unpack those things I don’t need to carry; Organize the timeline and move forward.

It is hard to get out of comfortable heaviness. Harder to explain.

A friend talks of this year being the final whip of last year’s dragon tail. That the snake will make things we’ve been trying so hard for come true. That we should believe in it. Dreams we didn’t dare to dream.

If I say I’m so excited, does it jinx everything?

What I want is lightness and a baby running between shelves of books. Community and poetry and the mess of so much all at once. Sleep deprivation and bigger ideas.

Gather up mismatched dreams. Organize a timeline. Move forward with whip-lightning feet.