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jane
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had i answered honestly all the things i'd been asked, instead of skirting the inquiry the way my father would (god i hate it when he does that), perhaps.....
who wants to know what could have been? nostalgia is a waste of cranial storage. better to use it on something like multiplication tables or color mixtures. the way it smelled when the sun burned the mountaintops.
& so i am not the marble statue i once claimed that i was - i am merely a pillar of salt - merely a woman who could not help but glance backwards to loss. my humanity is ironically immortal.
* * *
once i finished the red wine i remembered (well i had never forgotten) how i had wanted to spend it - over some goddamn black & white cheesy movie setting scene - i didn't expect candles, per se, but the would have complemented the scene. idyllic. it would be like before, when there was no worry except that of should i or shouldn't i take the risk? when i was free to express myself because there was no potential anything. when did the ideal become so uninviting? was it because summer lethargically transitioned into autumn?
* * *
i want that taste in my mouth again. nothing lost, nothing gained, right? well they are right about one thing - memories are haunting. hell must be mansions filled with memories; starting at the top (the most recent) - one works his way down to the basement (all that i had shoved in my subconscious). the swell of daddy's pipe, the way it felt to sit on the roof of the playhouse, or that time i was nine or so & overheard the boys behind me on the path say they were going to rape me. no, that's not subconscious. the embarassment i felt when trying to tell my parents was overwhelming.
* * *
i keep going back to that thought - how everyone has their dominant sense. mine was always the visual, & the aesthetics that came with that territory. i minored in touch. i always wished somehow i had done more with sound, but the explanations behind it are disappointing to me,
like when they explained why leaves lose their chloroplasts in the fall & the equation of photosynthesis. the magic was gone. rain was no longer raindrops freshly falling from dark cotton clouds, it had a cycle of evaporation & precipitation. the sun is (one in infinity) ball of gas burning hydrogen into helium, that, like so many before it, will inevitably surrender to supernova. love is just a series of chemical reactions in our synapses, evolution's way of getting us to procreate.
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050927
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