Transcription – 3 Weeks In Winter



from my coffeeshop journals… january 19 – “i still sit on the precipice but my eyes are squinting, wondering if the jump is not as far as it seems.  perhaps the fog will clear and i’ll see a bridge.  the sages said to connect the areas, and maybe that should be my first priority, maybe doing this, by learning how to strategize and partner, maybe that will bring that feeling where i can breathe, move freely about the cabin, find common ground, love securely, and not embellish.  he did say it, and he did say other things, but i should have believed the lowest common denominator. he was a mirror of my past, and like my sista said, there is reason for joy that the world protected me from a lifelong move and disaster.  but like she said, why didn’t he want me?  fortunately i held my ground, didn’t do anything foolish.  maybe i’m learning.  maybe the lesson will reveal itself.  my birthday nears.


january 31 – my mind is surprisingly clear and i have cinnamon and cocoa mixed up in my fingernails as dirt shall be in time. pumpkin seeds make me hopeful for a better crop and while everyday i think of his death, it is now with a calm and acceptance that a girl like me could never have imagined two, one year ago, even a few moths.  i think of boston avenue and how the house lies empty, layers of dirt and polyester and shag carpeting atop memories of tiny bubbles and old hank williams tunes ad blueberry pancakes with burnt bacon.  he always grumbled, then followed it with a deep belly laugh that i can hear clearly.  trust is rigid with those who share your blood yet have no idea who wrote my story.  the town i return to is full of clouds and five years have transformed my skin, my eyes.  my freckles are reappearing and i’m drifting happily when i can kneel and poke my fingers into the soil.  i can’t do anything except dream of the orange carrots i pulled out last year and sitting under canopies of french beans.  there are only hints of the coming season and the more they hint at me the more i want to pull on the gloves.  i have my special addictions in this new life consisting of new vines and sunflower seeds splitting in he sun and the nights in the summer where i sit and sip with the voices of those i love.  i think my father would have loved this world i created.  unapologetic, she called me the other day, and i can’t believe i am capable of inspiring to that level.  each moment i add words and escape more into myself has changed me for the better. my words and my dirt and my dog in her final hours.  she looked at me last night with pain in her eyes and i thought of shirley singing to me and i knew.  it was always me sticking out like a cipher on the rainy days and when he drew his last breath he sent that sense of beginning into my blood. there were undercurrents when the rabbi told me i was strong.  she leaned against me for the one and only time in the thirty plus years i knew her.  she is in isolation and i can’t figure out if i want to or i ‘should’ reach out.  my mind no longer reels when i think of the hospital room but it definitely is timid when it sees the other reminder of that old life where she moaned and i thought, is it all worth it.  should i go to her or should i let that lie.  should i take her to the places we once collided as a family or is it my father’s ghost still ever present?  hearty laughs and tiny giggles from twenty year ago bring me to the painting of the two women that now hides in a back room.  i don’t know if the girls should stay or if my mind can handle them in the fire. tomorrow is only one moment and i have to focus on the present of my chocolates and gardens and the way the january air fills my lungs as i dream of the world as i want it to be. i’m ready to fly.


february 9 – tonguetied and twisted and hopeful for joy to turn into solidarity and promise of a big deep breath and exhaling after four months of question marks.  two steps forward one step back, seems my theme if i were to have one.  feel cold and tubby yet a little dreamy too.  i know there is a way out of this gloom and focusing on slack is my mantra mantra mantra.  i’m holding nothing back anymore and letting the energy in, not just by vein but by rushing across my skin.  i am growing and i am preparing to complete the latest metamorphosis, yet my eyes are foggy, waiting for the shell to fully peel off before i can recognize what is mine.  no one tells me and all i can do is extend my heart and hand, enjoy the people who keep me sound, think of castaway and remember to just breathe in and out, as tomorrow, the sun will rise.

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