Wind/Untitled

Wind

The wind leaves its scent on
my brown towel,
the one that used to smell of
boxes and time and dormancy

Revival. Reawakening.

I am still unpacking my bags,
still smelling the smells of
the past.

Untitled

What will we do with you?
Your unkempt hair
Your bitten nails
Your inappropriate dreams

Didn't/Humdrum Haiku

Didn't

Here is what we didn't do:

Fight
Wash dishes
Take the bus
Swear
Confront
Use the laundromat
Go hungry
Smoke or drink
Question our faith
Move
Shock
Realize our privileges

But I wanted--I want--to do much more.
I want to be more. Feel more. Touch more.

Ask. Move. Shake.
Question until my mind gives up.
I want to shock you.

All my wanting is too much.
You're afraid. I am not safe.
I am not the idea you had of me.
I am a Mystery, even to myself.
I am Other.
I will not be who you want me to be.

Haiku One

What if I scream it:
Yes, I'm watching the cookies!
I've got this apron.

Haiku Two: For Noah

moon stuck in the clouds
nightlight for this frightened child
mother of the sky

Haiku Three

you taught me to love
untamed, room for the wildness
that we know so well

Vinegar (October)

Vinegar (October)

The house smells faintly
of vinegar
the neighbor's dogs
for once: silent

spicy tea that tastes
of Nepal
rests on the coffee table,
waiting

I am waiting,
with clouded hope,
a heart ungrounded,
guiltily

I should be doing
more of the Right Things:
asserting, projecting
myself into the world
finding work outside
this vinegar-scented house

certainly not
sipping tea in silence

Purple

Purple

I will

hammer that nail
wherever it suits me

stuff my apron pockets
full of garden tomatoes

stand on a stool
to knead my bread

eat my carrots whole
raw, unpeeled, purple

not match my clothing
with my purse
(not even carry a purse if i don't want to)

celebrate my body
in nakedness, in clothing

decide who i am
and (i will) be that

i will be.

09.26.10

The reality of being back in the U.S. is flying in my face now.

The putting-myself-into-the-right-boxes. Being someone slightly off-center from my true self. Being confined, sanitized, respectable. I'm scared of that. Scared because I've been there before, for years. I know.

I must unfurl. I've begun. I am birthing a new self. It is shocking and shattering and healing. It is wildness. How dare I let anything tame it?

Nevertheless, I am attached to a world, a life in which expectations will always exist. What am I to do? I wonder if I've been born into the wrong world. Or time. Or dimension.

Another universe lives inside me.

From 07.06.10 & 08.02.10

07.06.10

It is a split. A parallel world that I know is not a figment of my imagination. It was real that I lived in Nepal. It is real; it's still there. It's real that I am back at home. I'm here. I carry within me that other world. I carry Nepal. It's real.

Why does it feel so much like fantasy? Why does it seem like so very long ago? Why can't my arms stretch far enough to touch both of these very different, very distanced worlds? And why can't I gather all my selves into one coherent Heidi?

08.02.10

Our car smells like crayons. Better than New Car Smell. But I think I'd rather just have crayons.

I've bitten off my nails. Again. I'll keep biting until it's safe to stop.

We're living in a periwinkle house on Mary Street. Our shit is everywhere.

I had to put my shit in a plastic container and hand it to the doctor.

I see topis; my heart swells.

We listened to bluegrass, spontaneous folk music in a warehouse on Walnut Street.

We watched Neal play the banjo on the patio.

I'm surprised by my life.

I hope Ella remembered me. Everyone else remembered me. I wish they (all) didn't.

I spoke my wildest dream out loud; it came true.

I am tired of boxes, straight lines, answers, safety, sameness. I don't fit inside. I'm curvy.

I am wild, evolving.

Goodbye

Goodbye. Life is full of this word. I've said it so many times before, but never with such finality. I may not see these same faces and places again. I can't accept finality. Oh, how I love an open end! The Possibility, the Chance, the Maybe lingering until it fades without my noticing. The long, subtle disappearance of hope--nothing too sudden, too noticeable. Easing out, bit by bit.

But life is sudden. These days, these days are fast and loud and certain. A count down. Specific dates and times when goodbye must be said. Finally. I can't even pretend that it's not real. It's very much my reality.