Saturday, January 30, 2010

On Cleaning

I've had a real urge to purge lately. On the surface I think I seem somewhat organized; I have a small apartment and it really makes it necessary to put things away. But I know there is lots of crap hidden in closets and corners in nice Ikea patterned boxes that I need to get to.

I always have the same problem when I deep clean-where to start? I like to use the "economy of movement" approach to everything (probably from spending so much time in a kitchen) but in this case, with so many goals I want to accomplish I'm getting bogged down in the details. No surprise.

In my planning of the big purge, I've also decided to rearrange my furniture. This will require me to unload my china cabinet. I don't know why I have the damn thing. Well, I do, its an antique and was my first purchase at an auction. Its a Hepplewhite style, and its great for compact spaces. I guess what I really mean is I don't know why I keep what's in it.

I have a large collection of china and crystal that I never use, and probably never will. Back in my early twenties when I was nurturing a deep urge to nest, I bought all these pieces in hopes to be ready for the "big day". I had visions of living in an old two and a half story house that still had a creaky dumbwaiter. I would throw fabulous dinner parties and use my simple, but elegant white ware to serve on.


Many years later, I often toy with parting with all of it (but for the wine glasses, which are necessary to life). Then a friend will come over and I will pull out the teapot, and she will gasp at its beauty, and I will feel all Martha Stewartlike and competent. So, I guess I have to keep that.  And the soup terrine is so lovely-a shame to let it go. Lets not mention how the service all fits together so when you look down at you see a subtly blooming flower. Sigh. I'm never going to get rid of it. I know it. I'll be 80 living in my apartment with all my books and china looming around me. But it will all look fabulous!

So there is art to hang, furniture to move, silk pillows to lay out in carefully orchestrated patterns. I must get to it. It's important to complete this constructed reality so I feel ready to face all the crap yet to come.

On Squirrels

an anonymous person once told me that men are like squirrels.
sometimes, when they find the best nuts
the most perfect nuts
they decide they are too lovely to eat
and hide them away for a later day.

but keeping them hidden becomes diffiicult
and they wonder, is the nut still as lovely?
so they go back, dig it up, inspect it
savour its presence for a short while
and then bury it again.

for knowing the nut is there
and exists
even buried deep in the earth
is comfort enough.

I have two squirrels. Two men who have buried me away.
Occassionally they return and dig me up
tell me how much i was (am) loved
how they wished they had enjoyed me when they could

but now, its just too difficult
the twists and turns of life has left the consumption of nuts
from long ago

but, because i have a weakness for squirrels
when the earth above me starts to move
and i know they have come to dig me up
i always

seem to answer them
to show them what they missed
to let them taste the sweet meat of me.

and so the earth above me rustles now
and i feel the anticipation of
getting only the best of someone
for a short time
i think i'm getting to the point
where being alone
is better than a short time
with even the best of the squirrels

I write this today to remind myself later. I write this today to remind myself later.
We are in the midst of change my girl.
And someone out there wants you forever.
And the short term is not a long term solution.
I just want to be aware this time.
I just want to be awake
not in a sleepy fog of a long rest under a deep soil.

Sunday, January 24, 2010


I've been silent for a long while now
rejecting the need to speak

but theres more to say

and I feel weak

the stuffing motion
the avoidance
i guess i've become immune to it

somehow, somewhere

the voice inside me has pushed up
bursting pores with want to be heard

this will be difficult

i'm not sure how to approach it

this will be difficult

This is the sixth year of blood. I promised myself this would be all. This year I would go back and recapture everything I had lost.

I lied.

I think I have lied a lot for a long time. and as every piece of me, of that lie gets rooted away i come to the realization that some work has to be done here.

i say I don't know who I am anymore, but I wonder if I ever knew?

Like she said: I learned to cope at eight. Eight. And that coping has become and intricate web of illusion reflecting light from places too dark to explore.

Did I ever really have a chance Susan? Can I fix this now?