My love D and my friends Kate and Laura--just by virtue of who these ladies are--are inspiring me to sally forth into a more poetic blog. I live in my head half the time as it is; this should be a reflection.
I'm excited to walk down a path strewn with more theory, more graphic art talk, more discussion of traditional poetic form. Normal life doesn't have places for these thoughts or discussions. Instead (if you work in American pop corporate culture as I do), we talk about celebrities and TV. This is my Heart's Inbox.
Growth. It hurts. My life is following symbolic patterns: after death, rebirth; after winter, spring. After a season of loss, life. I'm stumbling through, babbling. Cursing discourse. Praising prose. Bite the thorn, kiss the rose. Or kiss the thorn, bite the rose.
For now, I roll down a grassy knoll, and think about being barefoot next to a picnic table, being three and towheaded and wearing overalls. I have cake on my mouth. And my dimpled hands are reaching forward as I fall into a pillow of green, exhausting myself with laughter, chubby cheeks aching as the giggle commandeers my face. My tummy flies as I tumble, devouring the scent of heaven.
Oh. Ah.
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