“You got me moving in a circle/
Everyone I speak to is an oracle. Right now, a phone conversation with a friend becomes a tarot reading. I close my eyes, turn around once…
Everyone I speak to is an oracle. Right now, a phone conversation with a friend becomes a tarot reading. I close my eyes, turn around once, shake the stones, throw them onto the ground. I re-read text messages to find out who I am today, or who I was the day before. I go up and down the stairs, my right knee clicking as a reminder of the body, mercury in retrograde. I don’t know how to write I don’t know in a new way. I will keep trying, though.
Ficus tree, pruned using only my intuition last summer, looking happy.
Our Marble Lady of the Mantle, looking down on me with pleasant gaze.
Big cloud painting over a fireplace you can turn on with the flip of a switch. Jack-in-the-pulpit stained glass, waving slightly, the AC air from the vent below blowing upward.
My children, outside, with someone else, far away from me for the moment.
The light in the room darkens, the sound of the climate control fades away. Now, I hear the ceiling fan moving in circle.
I come back, still struggling to form an idea. My fingernails are too long and this distracts me. Slows me down. Makes me like the big cloud painting, fluffy, floating, lovely.
It was strange to leave New York. It’s strange to be away. I feel myself conflicted, wanting to keep the fires burning for my wounded and wild city. I dance outside, make a video for work, wonder if this is a way to communicate. I am a long piece of elastic, reaching from here all the way to there.