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i am going to paint you

I have heard it a third time now. Otherworldly, fairy blood, a conduit to another place. And so I wonder where it must come from and why I was unaware � here in my paperbag flesh and how the mirror betrays me. How kindness and loveliness surprises and awes. The way the other shamans see my soul. The way it thrills � the way it reminds. And how I feel when I�m walking beside her again. My sister, my dearest friend � the one old wise one told me to seek when she hushed me last night when she soothed me with do not be afraid. And can happiness indeed carry the strength of anger and can peace and soft and sleeping in his arms be the place I find my power can it indeed replace the searing of misery. Can I grow in this place floating beside his little black feather � airplane on his feet � laughter my new tears � tears my new laughter.

And do I deserve this?

Today I miss Jeremy. Today I remember how I�d loved him. Today he is my pomegranate seed and my soft place to sleep when the pestilence had overcome. But I left him lying there and how do we extricate ourselves from other. How do we unbind the ropes of karma or time or whatever became two ancient souls intertwined waxing and waning and needing and throwing away.

I can feel on my cheek the way it would have to hold a little dachshund and to say goodbye.

And there is never an opportune moment for death � never a time we feel we are prepared. Her mountainous ice blue and her smoker�s laugh and how she stated the fact of her father�s two days away end in class as if it were just a thing. And how I brushed embarrassed my own dust under the carpet and watched her stoic veiled grief.

I'm going to paint you Meg.

10:16 a.m. - 2005-07-01
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