the goal is to be awake when bean comes home. meanwhile it is raining & cooled-down through this city with very soft false-city sounds coming in through the wide windows here. i am barefoot & wrapped up in her clothes. i can hear every word they are saying on the sidewalk. the ceiling fan has the sound of a definite stride, a gait.
this boy makes me want to write poems. again: what has slipped in me?
it is holy week. it suddenly appears that i am busy for the rest of my life. today was like the last day of a vacation: after work i went to the old house & talked with chris & mischka for hours. my feet propped up on the windowsill. mischka helped me carry the fan from the old house to this second-storey where-i-live-now. in a thunderstorm with high-up lightning making me nervous as he held the tall metal fan & we walked the two blocks, i prayed & i told him i was praying.
which is something that holds my tongue. maybe you don't know that this is what i am thinking about all the time. it is holy week & that means easter vigil is at the end of it & i have so many things in my head about it that they are just things chaosed in a box in an attic. i am afraid of making faith sound stupid so i keep quiet.
yesterday i was part of a retreat in an inner-city church. everyone was very strict about When We Were Allowed To Open The Doors To The Outside. it was uncharitable & off. & when i got home chris asked, was it the kind of thing where everyone tried to be relevant, �& yes it was.
[[i won't even bring up the scary movie with the circus-as-life allegory including a white-clad, mute clown as a christ figure]]
yesterday in the morning though bean went to mass with me for palm sunday. she was like a little child: kicking her feet in the pews. she was bored. she kept poking me with her palm.
yesterday was also buddha's birthday.
i am going to say again, because i didn't say it clearly the first time, that i really adore jeff's poems, sitting bent-up in my tiny mailbox today.
