this morning at the bus stop the man next to me on the bench was pointing up at the utility wires hanging up across the intersection, the birds huddled together on one wire. "it must be the one live wire," he said, "they're all staying up there close to each other to keep warm. yeah, it must be the one live wire," & then he laughed very loudly, "or else the one that's
not live."
later he was reading the spine of the book i had with me (a people's history of the united states) & said, i really think this was out of nowhere, "is that how many presidents we've had? 192? i bet it's more than that."
"no," i said, "43."
"really?" he shook his head. "it should be a lot more than that, shouldn't it?"
the bus came up just then, deus ex machina as far as i could tell.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:all of this was after a restless night & then a weird morning full of fugue. i overslept, woke at 7.26, right when i should have been turning the key in the clinic door. i got out of bed, called w-lee to tell her i was late, & stood there shivering on the floor for what felt like a minute or two.
suddenly it was 8.12 & i was in another room. still undressed, unshowered, & nearly crying.
i took the minimum-est shower i could & threw on the clothes on the floor from last night & ran out the door, no headphones, only howard zinn, & was in no mood to deal with talkative strangers, or to give them history lessons.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:on the way home i was just sitting with my head resting against the window, looking up at the bright blue patches of sky peeking out uncharacteristically through the deep grey. this kid got on the bus: he was kind of chunky & he had on one of those hugely puffy jackets, so that when he plunked down in the seat next to me, even though i huddled what little there is to me against the wall & the window, his arm, his shoulder, were always in contact with the left side of my body.
he was a fidgety child, always digging into his backpack, eventually pulling out an activity book filled with mazes in the shapes of famous, actual rollercoasters. he kept moving & his arm kept moving with him, up against my arm & the side of my body. eventually i got the distinct impression that the kid was actually leaning against me. i did not bother to check: i was too busy staring out the window at the movement patterns made by windblown bits of debris: a cigarette, the torn-out plastic window of a business envelope.
i thought, how sad, this is probably the only physical contact i will have with anyone, all day.
then i was sort of sad when we all got off the bus, downtown. the kid's dad (i presume his dad) was sitting a couple seats back. i saw them reuniting in the aisle: the father grabbed the kid's jacket so they wouldn't get separated in the crunch. he held the jacket the way you might hold a soiled, heavy thing: between two fingers, at a distance, but tightly.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i sort of ran off the bus & was relieved to have space to move in. when i change buses i go very quickly through this little alley next to the state building. in the alleys, of course, the buildings seem crowded-together. the city doesn't sweep out the alleys very often. i like the griminess & closeness of it. i look forward to my minute or two in the alleys, all afternoon.
on bus #2 i leaned my head against that window & thought about all the things i wish i wrote about. i thought, i am never going to get around to writing the poem with the coins in it. i thought, no one is going to touch me today. i thought, i am quivering & there is no one to press a hand hard against my sternum to get all this to stop. i thought, it is just nearly winter & i am all alone.
i thought, shut up, shut up, get over it, renounce + enjoy.
at home i am confronted with this weird, again-fuguish stepping-aside, trying to see myself as others see me. strangers find this & i feed off that thought. so many people don't know me & say that i am calm.
i am not calm.
i am desperate for touch. i am driven by skin hunger & a desire to name everything in the world.
when i have no one near me whose skin i can touch, i will lean my exposed arms against stretches of wood.
i bare too little & suddenly i bare too much. it was a long night & i am still frightened by what happened this morning. i am afraid of losing people.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:the story on the street is that chris & jeff want to take me to the 'dube, to get me out of the house while i am a batchelorette & it is possible to get me out of it.
the story on the street is that i will be fed cigarettes, because chris thinks it is funny the way i hold them like fragile artifacts.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:when i was crossing the street, coming home, i looked up at the utility wires. they were all of them covered in the huddled-up bodies of birds.
