posted by Anonymous @ 9:23 PM
Comments: 1
a compulsory ocean is worse than a forbidden well
Thursday, October 26, 2006
It's October and the leaves are falling too fast. I walk the campus with careful feet, with careful fingers, picking up each fallen failure and handing it back to the nearest tree. Lately, I've been saving my words for the squirrels, though they have no time to listen. The abundance of fall overwhelms them. Simon touches my arm. His fingers unglue wet strands of hair from wet eyelashes. His tongue teases the river on my cheek. It's October. I walk the brick sidewalks without recognizing anyone. I feel like the future is my only hope of salvation. Which gives it such an overwhelming amount of pressure. It's suffocating me. I picture Simon sleeping, clinging to the stuffed pig I mailed him two summers ago. He'll have one leg wrapped around it, one arm draped over its head. The hollow of my chest aches with the image.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
I was only home for three days before my body purged itself of the entire trip. I threw up Antigua, San Pedro, Monte Ricco, Guatemala City. I threw up frijoles, maize, mango, huevos. I threw up the chicken bus, the mercado, the slum. I threw up Astrid, Margarita, Erick, Eddy, Juan Carlos, Irma, Pablo, Lupita. I threw up the damp rainy season, the swirl of clouds above a volcano, the entire Spanish language. When I was empty of everything possible, I stood over the clean white toilet and shook and cried and spat.
When the needle goes into your arm to probe what is wrong, it is Manuel de Jesus who is entering your veins. You watch this slim, shining thing become a part of you, but you know that in the end you will be left with a red-purple bruise on the soft flesh of your inner elbow. In the end you will have only lost your own blood, and you will have lost him as well. You will have lost everything but the questions: Is he dealing himself a hand of cards at this moment in time? Is he being beaten in the rotting alleyways of the slums? Has he eaten today?
At home, the carpet still feels strange on my feet. I take a dose of Phenergan and try to sleep away all of the problems. Maybe when I wake up I won't remember anymore. My body is empty, in one sense, yet so full that I cannot understand how to live anymore.
When the needle goes into your arm to probe what is wrong, it is Manuel de Jesus who is entering your veins. You watch this slim, shining thing become a part of you, but you know that in the end you will be left with a red-purple bruise on the soft flesh of your inner elbow. In the end you will have only lost your own blood, and you will have lost him as well. You will have lost everything but the questions: Is he dealing himself a hand of cards at this moment in time? Is he being beaten in the rotting alleyways of the slums? Has he eaten today?
At home, the carpet still feels strange on my feet. I take a dose of Phenergan and try to sleep away all of the problems. Maybe when I wake up I won't remember anymore. My body is empty, in one sense, yet so full that I cannot understand how to live anymore.
posted by Anonymous @ 4:06 PM
Comments: 0