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I think we’d all be so much better off if we stopped faking it and started taking more walks.
-ella -
“Making art’s like a muscle. You stop for too long and things atrophy,” he said.
And then he told me, “Don’t go see that movie tonight.”
“Stay home with the moon and paint.”
-ella -
“Cathy, I’m lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I’m empty and I’m aching and I don’t know why
Countin’ the cars on the New Jersey turnpike
They’ve all come to look for America,
all come to look for America”-Paul Simon, America
-
I’d like to pin this to my brainfolds today.
(like a post-it note reminder)-ella
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“The will is always near, dear, though the feet vary.”
-Emily Dickinson -
feel free to take up more space than you’re normally used to.
-ella -
I phone my Mother to kill some time in the few minutes before class starts and we talk about a song Paul wrote for John, and insurance. My benefits aren’t covering anything, I warn her. I worry. I’ve been worrying for a month straight about coverage.
We lay in supine twist, complete strangers crumpled on the ground brought together by yoga on this early summer’s eve. My mind’s been a Mad Hatter chasing after rabbits this way and that. And it’s gravely apparent in my balance poses on the mat.
My hips swing to the right, my arms form a “T” and my head turns to gaze to the left. I notice a hand on the floor, belonging to the man next to me. It’s outstretched there at the end of his “T” and I get a knot in my stomach when I read the note that’s written on the back of his palm: “Insurance!”
It’s underlined and punctuated with an exclamation point for added urgency.
We come to yoga for the same reason….to put a leash on the Mad Hatter and keep the rabbits at bay.
I’m in such a serene pose but have a strange desire to amputate his hand, and free him of his worry. Healthcare shouldn’t make you anxious. -
He’s got cowboy logic.
As night starts to settle in, I’m impressed when he suggests so naturally that we amble on away from the creek in favor of the lane upside along the road. He says without batting an eyelash, “It will be warmer up there away from the water.”
And he’s right.
-ella
-
-ella
-
His face is alabaster,
drywall
matte putty plaster.
A sick chalky, ghostly white.
He slurps his fruit cups and TV Dinners at lunchtime
under fluorescent lights
inhaling forced ventilated air
and discusses corporate partners.
He pokes fun at my salads.
He mocks my produce.
He grew up, one of eight children,
working the soil and tending the livestock
on a farm.This is what success looks like.
-ella
