I forget how I got here.
Him? Maybe.
Not the 4:56 a.m. 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, therefore nothing to loose, but myself. With my
empty suitcase, proven wrong,still I wait. I remain. Too
many days traveling to not loose oneself. I am hunted by
me.
"Forget," he said all-knowing pushing record on a
broken tape player, "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 and to think that you could recreate
it!'
"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. if 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.” I wish I could just tell him that none
of us belong. Instead the silence says it all. The
moment remains frozen, here. While we laid
bare. I wept, but his hands still found my
breasts. Yet, already, 10 years, together.
Here."
This is not just another way to define why 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 one human being. Even though a human being is milk
and honey, the thought i, 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 spent
to touch you,
define 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 or grow up and blow away.”
