04.24.09
It's cruel, the way loneliness deadens you, makes you forget how to be a friend, makes you feel forgotten, makes you feel like just a memory.
I always prided myself on my ability to thrive on solitude, leading no social-butterfly life. But aloneness is not loneliness...and loneliness is not aloneness. It seems that I've been given too much of both.
04.28.09 (Margaret)
Just when I am hearing the echo of loneliness, my own voice bouncing off these vast canyon walls...I hear another, very familiar voice: the voice of a friend. From a distance, yes, but oh how far the voice of love can travel. I am revived, a plant watered once again.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
05.17.09/Soul
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
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 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
Monday, August 31, 2009
04.15.09/Miss
04.15.09
I bite my nails
they taste like chili peppers
and fear
A dead kite dangles
from the grapevine
remnant of last October
Neighbors peel
carrot, radish, cucumber
vegetable rainbows
I have nothing to say to you,
Quiet Afternoon
Miss
Someday, I will miss fresh mangoes. Cilantro, juicy tomatoes, year round. I will miss the winter sun, the summer rain. I will miss the mountains around me, the flowers spilling over gated gardens. The scent of potatoes frying in mustard oil, the symphony of pressure cookers, pots & pans, puja bells. I will miss the slowness, the unruliness, the inclusiveness of the Nepali people. Turmeric-stained fingers, garlic-scented kitchens, tikka-stained foreheads and feet...these I will miss.
I must remember what it will be like...afterward. The reverse culture shock. I will not survive without these reminders.
I bite my nails
they taste like chili peppers
and fear
A dead kite dangles
from the grapevine
remnant of last October
Neighbors peel
carrot, radish, cucumber
vegetable rainbows
I have nothing to say to you,
Quiet Afternoon
Miss
Someday, I will miss fresh mangoes. Cilantro, juicy tomatoes, year round. I will miss the winter sun, the summer rain. I will miss the mountains around me, the flowers spilling over gated gardens. The scent of potatoes frying in mustard oil, the symphony of pressure cookers, pots & pans, puja bells. I will miss the slowness, the unruliness, the inclusiveness of the Nepali people. Turmeric-stained fingers, garlic-scented kitchens, tikka-stained foreheads and feet...these I will miss.
I must remember what it will be like...afterward. The reverse culture shock. I will not survive without these reminders.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wonderland/Aasha
Wonderland
Oh Wonderland, where art thou? Land of rabbits, of imagination. Land of talking flora, mad fauna. Land of nonsense, of unbridled curiosity. Of a world inside a world inside a girl's little head. Land of Wonder, why can't I find you?
Aasha
Poems hide
beneath these rocks
on the path to our house
flowers are born
underground
we tread upon them softly
songs rest
behind our lips
waiting to kiss the dusty air
with ordinary, unexpected hope.
Oh Wonderland, where art thou? Land of rabbits, of imagination. Land of talking flora, mad fauna. Land of nonsense, of unbridled curiosity. Of a world inside a world inside a girl's little head. Land of Wonder, why can't I find you?
Aasha
Poems hide
beneath these rocks
on the path to our house
flowers are born
underground
we tread upon them softly
songs rest
behind our lips
waiting to kiss the dusty air
with ordinary, unexpected hope.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Thailand/Rain
Thailand
Sweating, salty, sun
I let myself go, melt in this
exotic heat
I savor these flavors, these
strange words, these beautiful
skies
I was surprised, hardly prepared
for this
glorious, pulsating place
and I am less prepared to
leave
Aah, my jaw has just unclenched
my stomach has lost its fire
I am actually breathing
inhaling, expanding, unshriveling
pretending that this won't
end.
Rain
Rain, Rain,
you've finally come!
Wash the dust, the filth, the sadness
away
(how I wish you would, Rain).
I wish there was a washing away
of the sorrow that cloaks me
I set foot on this sandy soil
afraid I will sink down
further into this earth
this earth of unending thirst
(how I wish you'd never stop, Rain).
Sweating, salty, sun
I let myself go, melt in this
exotic heat
I savor these flavors, these
strange words, these beautiful
skies
I was surprised, hardly prepared
for this
glorious, pulsating place
and I am less prepared to
leave
Aah, my jaw has just unclenched
my stomach has lost its fire
I am actually breathing
inhaling, expanding, unshriveling
pretending that this won't
end.
Rain
Rain, Rain,
you've finally come!
Wash the dust, the filth, the sadness
away
(how I wish you would, Rain).
I wish there was a washing away
of the sorrow that cloaks me
I set foot on this sandy soil
afraid I will sink down
further into this earth
this earth of unending thirst
(how I wish you'd never stop, Rain).
Friday, August 7, 2009
03.10.09/03.12.09
03.10.09
Oh, these strange, quiet nights
When I am so full of hunger
For another soul to be
Just to be, nothing more
Just a soul with light to shed
On these strange, dark nights.
03.12.09
There is an earthquake in my stomach. I listen to its tremulous gurgles, my head curled down close, my knees in my dirty hair. It could be anything, damn it. A sip of water, a bite of fruit. It seems I'm just waiting to be preyed upon.
It seems the sun has fallen ill as well, casting weak, peach-colored hues in the middle of the day. I feel deserted, ugly, afraid, alone. The only sound I hear is the earthquake inside me.
Oh, these strange, quiet nights
When I am so full of hunger
For another soul to be
Just to be, nothing more
Just a soul with light to shed
On these strange, dark nights.
03.12.09
There is an earthquake in my stomach. I listen to its tremulous gurgles, my head curled down close, my knees in my dirty hair. It could be anything, damn it. A sip of water, a bite of fruit. It seems I'm just waiting to be preyed upon.
It seems the sun has fallen ill as well, casting weak, peach-colored hues in the middle of the day. I feel deserted, ugly, afraid, alone. The only sound I hear is the earthquake inside me.
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