i think i've floated off into low opacity
feelings faint, i knew that already but reading my phone notes tethers me tighter, lower closer--why don't people do that? why hasn't anyone learned they need to retie their ropes? lifes strain loosens the knots, i know it's so Gaussian gradual that it never gets uncomfortable, but frogs die in boiling water comfortably
i look at faces that are blank, stale, distorted
for efficient optimization
the second i settled into rendering my skin feathered gray to a translucent dread
i've been avoiding and solitary and anxious and escaping because i've faded too far from the existence of others i stopped seeing gray Antarctica eyes above diving board noses and lashes took a cartoon form, now they're just W's
and it was just last week that i was opaque i could see translucency in front of me but now everything's a little blurry a little fragile and see through
how do people live like this
how do i get my color back and why did i need to drain saturation, too sharp for eyes trained for ease? the brightness burns and you don't ever get used to it but at least my stomach was settled before
Travel to your birthplace.
Travel to your mother's birthplace.
Travel to you grandmother's birthplace.
Travel to your great-grandmother's birthplace.
For every year you have been alive, write the names of the family members you have forgotten. One day encapsulates one year amended.
Write them back into your memory.
I took the papers, pen, gum, change from my winter jacket and dropped all the knick-knacks down into the deep pockets of my LL Bean blue hooded. My shoulders light with spring. Leaving winter hanging on the hook by the door by the litter box. I’ve listened to Rancid all morning. Spring. Sunshining. Shotgunning beers in the woods when I was 15, the last I’ve been under the Red Hot Moon. And you, there, still sitting on the blanket in my mind in those woods with the moss and the new spring grass curling around your outstretched legs. And you. You. You will always be there. Young. 15 years younger than me. Standing still in time. In the woods behind my parents old house that still stands but is filled with strangers. We are strangers.