orangeheart

when i woke up this morning i heard clapping & whistles. my immediate, jerked-out-of-sleep reaction was that it was a revival being held at the little church a couple blocks away. but it was really the columbus marathon, being run down neil avenue. (do little churches in ohio have revivals? probably not as often as little churches in kentucky. & probably not in late october, either.)

when i see men my age running, i think of luke: always looking at them closely, to see if any of them is him. & so as i walked to mass i looked sidelong at these men running down the avenue, shirtless, their hips the shape of his hips six, seven years ago. i bet he doesn't even run anymore.

(what would i do if i saw him running down the street, in a marathon, anyway? i wouldn't run out to him. my heart would stop. why look for him in the first place in a city he's never seen?)

but then when i wasn't walking past runners anymore, when i was walking down harrison, i was just shocked at all the leaves, especially the ones on the tiny trees. the trees only as tall as me. i knew i was running late, so i wouldn't let myself stop, but i kept wanting to stop, to put my face in with the leaves. how can this smell of fallen dry leaves, which only lasts in ohio a few week, remind me of the whole of my childhood?

& inside, as i slid into the pew, knees already pointed toward the floor, i just felt all the adrenaline leave very quickly. i thought i was going to faint. i couldn't pay attention. i couldn't pay attention. & then very suddenly, on standing to say the creed, i saw myself as a ringing wire, like a piano wire ringing: only me, standing straight up & not falling over, just ringing, & with no one around to press against me so that the ringing could stop. just keeping ringing: on + on. & i could see myself outside, pressing against the trees, hoping to stop ringing, & i looked down & saw the wood of the pew in front of me, & my pupils dilated, & i grabbed the back of the pew in front of me, to keep from falling over. & the priest saw me standing this unsteadily, i know. i was right in front, right there.

i walked home; i didn't even notice the streets as i crossed them.

the whole world is turned on. i think about andrï¿½ brï¿½ton, whom i cannot picture, saying (or writing), "only the astonishing is beautiful." i'm sure ï¿½ he was a surrealist after all ï¿½ he meant that things-we-see-everyday, no matter how pretty they are, are not beautiful.

but there was this mirror i saw, in the alley, leaning against the back of a house. the mirror was dirty & grimy, probably moldy. it just leaned there. but it cast this slight green over the images reflected in it. so that the sky was green, but only barely green, & so that the trees were green at the same time they were orange & gold & red. & the reflected world in the face of the mirror, that changed as i walked past, craning my neck to keep it in my line of sight: was also green, the whole thing.