2 versions / drafts

lunation

the way to your home
a white pet struck
fur blows the road
cat crossing your yard.

my hand casts a line
sacraments your path
breath gone to seed
nearing your sleep.

a raccoon breaks,
stirring the ground ash
pads my intention—
featherfoil, sanguinary.

all the times I’ve seen you,
and you’ve never seen me.

______________________________________________

lunation

the way to your home
a white pet struck
fur blows the road
cat crossing your yard.

my hand casts a line
sacraments your path
breath gone to seed
nearing your sleep.

all the times I’ve seen you,
and you’ve never seen me.

The first half of the movie A Quiet Place is the closest thing I’ve experienced to an accurate metaphor of what it’s like living with C-PTSD. It’s like that, all the time, except no one is there with you, or understands at all.

Friends if this is also you, you might want to skip it. Personally, I found it relieving, less isolating, to see something portray this experience.

part company

then the ground

was shatter and smooth

over something harder.

the same as my chest

filled up tar molasses;

before that, heavy cream,

sand, ornaments.

 

I pointed up, slow,

second place fireflies–

my body strobing

memory drum and limp nails

on floorboards, the ceiling

hit between tasks,

time measured off.

 

a heat register’s cloud

and fall from standing–

speaking glued shut.

synapse panicked syllables

a metronome’s tick

repeating at the tremor

 

 

(2004. 4 of 28 drafts I’ve never done anything with, being resolved into notes and outlines.)

Linden

 

leaves stick

the dog paws

soles gone

seasonal slippers

Wasps test

nurses, guards

defended entrances

flex dread

I pull blossoms

weeping sap tea

aphid trails

transformational honey

steep the

brittle end

 

(8/18. 3 of 28 drafts I’ve never done anything with, being resolved into notes and outlines.)

 

 

 

 

women at the hellmouth

First season, that hasn’t aged well, and frosted lip gloss. The slayer dropping her bag. The wardrobe was never good. Solids are characters in their power. She says James Spader is hot. This ages well.

Our first combat, our first use of the library, I’m nervous about Jenny. Patterns are hormones, textures anxieties. In being taught how to watch, every escape is natal. Devotion is at the earth’s threshold.

Darla is brilliant, her trajectory beyond the half season. Watch this sire, common-law, sex worker. This will come up again, how-to stratify women, their sex a map legend. How she is the entrance and exit.

This is our first hero shot.

 

 

 

(2 of 28 drafts I’ve never done anything with, being resolved into notes and outlines.)

solar return

the best birthday I get

is as many loved

ones since the Sun is

lucky, and better than

being at the doctor,

So, success. It feels like

tripping thanks &

correct begin. So much

honing off of, shivering

in alignment.

 

(1 of 28 drafts I’ve never done anything with, being resolved into notes and outlines.)