05.17.09
It's been 9 months since we landed in Nepal. It's been almost 1 week since my parents returned home after their 2-week stay with us. And only 2 days until I turn 25 years old.
It's amazing, or enslaving, how time and numbers order my life, especially these days. Here, where time is slow, I seem to trudge through hours until a day, a week is over. I find it hard to exist. And perhaps Nepal is teaching me (whether I want it to or not) to simply do that. Just exist.
It is another gentle, breezy evening in Kathmandu, and for the moment, I'm surprisingly in the moment. We sit on the balcony in silence that could never be awkward. We sit and exist together, because it seems that all we have is each other, for the moment.
Soul
soul loneliness
dry, dusty, wilting
faithless, insecure, thirsty
with a depth I cannot fathom
like the floor is falling away
from beneath my dirty feet
the sky caving in, ironing me flat
a hopelessness I cannot contain
a craving for what, I do not know
a hole I am forever falling into
Alice in Wonderland
a land full of wonders, yes
but somehow un-wonderful
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
04.21.09/04.23.09
04.21.09
Tuesday, 5:00PM.
Back porch breezes dry my just-washed hair
Abigail Washburn whispering songs into my ear
Drink in hand
Reflecting upon a most ordinary day
Willing it to come alive, or
Willing myself to see its life:
The silent growing of plants in clay pots
The blooming bougainvilla
The winds changing, hinting
At the rains to come
The dance of sun and shadow
Counting out the beat of hours
The rhythm of a day
Of time that feels endless, empty
Of time that will add up
Will equal the sum that is
My life
I worry that I cannot always find
The beauty in my ordinary moments
In the passing of a quiet afternoon
In the lazy way the earth turns, slow
Waiting for me to notice
To turn with it, gracefully
To join the ancient dance of time
04.23.09
Overcrowdedbustrafficjammedimpossibly
in the mid-afternoon sun
scrunching, s h r i n k...i n g into
the seatbelt holder (broken, unused)
sequin-clad stranger sweating into me
exfoliating my shoulder
another stranger laughs
a shrillbushorn kind of laugh
patting my knees subconsciously
in her conversational enthusiasm
I sigh, try to breathe air
but find exhaust(exhausting) instead
stalecigarettebreathdirtunwashedhairgrime
I try to move
but sequins and sweat and seatbelts
surround me on all sides
Tuesday, 5:00PM.
Back porch breezes dry my just-washed hair
Abigail Washburn whispering songs into my ear
Drink in hand
Reflecting upon a most ordinary day
Willing it to come alive, or
Willing myself to see its life:
The silent growing of plants in clay pots
The blooming bougainvilla
The winds changing, hinting
At the rains to come
The dance of sun and shadow
Counting out the beat of hours
The rhythm of a day
Of time that feels endless, empty
Of time that will add up
Will equal the sum that is
My life
I worry that I cannot always find
The beauty in my ordinary moments
In the passing of a quiet afternoon
In the lazy way the earth turns, slow
Waiting for me to notice
To turn with it, gracefully
To join the ancient dance of time
04.23.09
Overcrowdedbustrafficjammedimpossibly
in the mid-afternoon sun
scrunching, s h r i n k...i n g into
the seatbelt holder (broken, unused)
sequin-clad stranger sweating into me
exfoliating my shoulder
another stranger laughs
a shrillbushorn kind of laugh
patting my knees subconsciously
in her conversational enthusiasm
I sigh, try to breathe air
but find exhaust(exhausting) instead
stalecigarettebreathdirtunwashedhairgrime
I try to move
but sequins and sweat and seatbelts
surround me on all sides
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