July 29, 2015

Past the Feeling.

(L'Abri, photograph by Christena Dowsett)

Cornered by a spot of sunlight, / I sat on the back porch  / listing words that made me feel simultaneously / dead and alive.

blown, sun-choked,

July 24, 2015

Oogum Boogum.

I hesitate to call any day in Ann Arbor "good," because even in peaceful moments, I feel a deeper sadness. But it was green and yellow. It was the kind of day I spent reminding myself to inhale fully, to reserve an hour to sit in the sunshine. I know in a few months I'll miss the warmth, and regret not making the time for any heat.

I watched Blue Is The Warmest Colour in the late afternoon, smothered with light from the window by my bed. What I loved most was the physicality of Adele. She eats voraciously, with no sense of shame at her own hunger -- no need for daintiness. She fucks, she dances, she blubbers messy, snotty tears... all her sensuality and allure derives from how in her body she is.

I'm through with apologising for myself. When I'm hungry, I'll eat. No more hospital IV's, no more meetings with nutritionists after class. When I'm in love, I'll say so. No more climbing through the bedroom window when the front door is unlocked.

Last weekend, Dan and I danced barefoot in Andrew's back yard. It was the first time I'd felt like myself in months. The rest of the party stayed standing in a cluster on the concrete, snide and self-assured. I didn't care. Why deny wet grass, Duke Ellington, the glow of the porch light, the sheen of the picket fence?

I clenched and unclenched my toes against the dirt. I thought: I'd rather die than get that old and quiet inside -- like an empty room.