I forget how I got here.
Him? Maybe
Not the 4:56 train.
Now that the days have been filled with yesterdays, tomorrows, days after and before, sometimes I wonder what remains? If nothing remains there is nothing to carry. Too many days traveling to not loose oneself.
"Forget," he said all-knowing pushing recordr, "like how I forget to use articles in the English language." He films that which is not deliberate only seems unrehearsed, unpracticed, unconditioned.
'How wrong you are,' she thought, 'to dream of an authentic moment.'
"Listen,when I was brave, words and sentences and thoughts would drop from my mouth. They would roll around in the spaces we would occupy, our kitchen, our bed, hallway." Hands shaking, I pretend. It makes no difference to me how cold America is. I have been fucked, so what. I look away. He captures me looking away.
"It’s like the chair you use to sit on in the kitchen, what if it is just a memory of a chair? Or the chair his grandfather left symbolic of...or... "This is how we pass...
“Did we buy it together? Well it is now mine, it was always mine."
...On misunderstanding through red-rock landscapes.
"Yet, already, you fight. Look into the camera. Start from: You keep saying 'this wood is not him, however ..."
This lack of common word between us tells you that language can’t substitute for life, but it can substitute for something you
cannot hear.
Him filming me. I sing. "Take away the
dessert, the rocks, but not the snow from
me. “Take away the sky,” what I yelled
against the wind. What he said was nothing
back, except: 'I don’t quite belong,' Once
again, nothing has changed. The moment
remains frozen, here. While we laid bare,
I wept, but his hands still found my breasts..
Yet, already,
10 years togethe. Here"
This is not just another way to define
he clothed, to explain how I came with.
Why I endure wave after wave. I cannot
look away from us. To outline why I still
gaze, still sail, on dreams, still drift away
with him. He’s unpredictable. When I was
brave ‘don’t fence me in’ was my song.
Now I can’t express why I live on one
thought or as one human being, Even though
a human being is milk and honey. The
thought is, on another side, too sour. What
about the bitter?
Where’s our connection?” I ask. Is it just
a word? Which word? Marriage?"
"Place me on your tongue. Realize a
human being is me, a me, the me in
relation to you."
My hand in his hand on his heart, beating:
"a lifetime spentto touch you,to touch
me,
to leave a mark, which is nothing, but
the murmur of cottonwood trees."
"For once, anchor me."
“Not if only we sail on dreams."
"Then wake me up.”
