House Renders Silence into Souvenir
Housesitting in PA
First-half of summer season bracketed with offer to house sit.
Home encased by brick and barn.
A new life is offered to you.
You take it willingly.
Polyester resin conducts pool table orchestra.
Grand piano to be looked at but never touched.
There are three cats. They will never love you but you enjoy their company.
There are stories you write. Others you dream.
You sit on back porch swing. Mountain-top view cropped by Lutheran church and bar-restaurant.
Bottle in recycle bin. Perhaps a narrative forming. Turn off lights. Story submerged in dark.
Memory from Monaco, Jan. 2022 — you sit on the bench at the lookout. Ocean waves bulbed by reflected sunlight. After a week in Europe, you finally change your watch to your new country’s time.
Two months after returning home, you have not changed it back.
Wine glass broken by billiard cue.
Another bottle in bin.
Cat scratches hole in white dress. You are mad at yourself, not the cat.
Mornings are for walking barefoot around the backyard. And plucking grass blades off your calves and feet.
Garden is to be watered every three days. There is mint. Zucchini. Tomatoes. Green Grapes. Basil. And other things.
Pillaged strawberries by chipmunk teeth.
Blueberries will soon be in full bloom.
There is something to look forward to.
Friend calls you from her holiday in Collioure, France. She shows you the rooftop of apartment. Sky is bleach with pink and yellow and orange. You wish you were with her.
But you have another world to tend.
Gold earring lost in church parking lot.
Bike around block to look for it.
You don’t find it. But you are always looking for something.
Memory from London, March 2022 — You leave your friend’s flat and hike up a hill to Waterloo Park. Sit on bench across pond of ducks. Corner of your eye. Man is walking towards you. You fix your eyes on the ducks. Man sits on the bench next to you. And does not leave you alone. All you wanted was a moment alone.
Often, hurt begins not at bite but when beast sees you.
To fear something before it shows you what it can do.
There was blood on the ground.
Period blood?
No, face blood.
Lift blood from floor with cloth.
Clean cloth of you.
Remember skin is an organ, too.
Down and up the second staircase.
Look out from second story window. Contemplate confirming Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity.
Collect fresh eggs every morning.
Feed chickens and rooster. Give them fresh water and treats.
There are books to be read. And books only to be gazed at.
“And what you hear in my voice is fury, not suffering” —Audre Lorde from Uses of Anger.
This book is read. This book is the closest you’ll get to gospel.
Mirrors are simply an adaptation of the self. You are constantly criticizing its depiction of source text.
Another bottle in bin.
Past tense enters through front door, wipes shoes on doormat, a pack of cigarettes purchased before he leaves.
Instead of unscrewing the hands of the clock, you clean the cat throw-up.
You want to power-wash your memory.
You want snow to exist in the future tense.
Friend says she sees her younger self in you. Is her face another adaptation of a source text?
There is no answer, only bank account balance.
You buy a new coat in a consignment shop by your favorite bagel place. The coat is floor-length. Sand-color. Fur-lined.
It is 80 degrees outside.
Coat was only $38 and will shield you from winter light.
The new year has a reducing effect. But you’ve learned to make more out of less.
This time next year, you will be in Iowa Newark New York Bristol Cork London this body.
Your new life oscillates under your surface.
A baby will be born soon.
Not yours, of course. But by someone you look up to.
You cry because people you love are continually growing up.
Imagine your life if you grew up in a house as beautiful as this.
Imagine your life if you weren’t forced to expedite your growing.
Another bottle in bin.
After breakfast, you remember you have not only mouth but voice.
You wonder if you’ll ever have another summer like this.
You wonder if you’ll have indulgence as silent as this.
Or perhaps every step is a wish for aloneness.
You are alone but find company amongst the fire files in the garden, rising and falling like champions of the sky.
You wake the last morning.
Wash sheets clean of your body.
Make the bed look like your weight never married it.
Wipe every surface clean of your mark and mess.
Train your eyes to decipher the difference.
Leave keys on desk, next to orchids and cat treats.
Exit through back door.
And return to your real life.