This week i was in DC on an occasion worth counting down for, and have been solidly reminded of my love for Chocolate City. Truly i’ve been laughin too hard, creating some art, and searching for that urban nature. Check the last slide to see where i’m headed next, to get uncomfortable with myself. (Suggestions welcome! but i’m not trynna meet y’all friends.) And yes, i sat close to loved ones outside for an hour, don’t @ me.
i have loved many a human who has made a habit of hating themselves.
It is never as difficult as they think.
Envisioning a fresh world with dear pals, a perfect puppy, and some glorious attentions to detail. My zoom life in 2020 included “Art Club”, during which a beautiful lino stamp was carved by Audrey. As i push at the edges of my comfort zone, this print and the corners of a welcoming home are all treasured reminders: everything is a work in progress, but some art does get finished after all.
i heard a siren in the night and dreamed of coyotes. A close friend mentioned this happening to her when she arrived in New England from DC, oppositely. i get it now. She and i heard them howl on new years eve with what seemed like joy under a moon that was almost too bright. Like in the movies. The sirens remind me.
The drive down to these cities was less than eight hours. i saw so many hawks along the way. One roosting comfortably, close to the road, another in flight overhead, one that had swooped low toward prey. i’ve seen several in the cities since. Today a hawk perched just beyond the edge of a dog park, which is also a cemetery, which is a gorgeous piece of real estate in which to stay away from strangers as we watch all the dogs play.
At some stoplights there are groups of masked people who will wash your windshields whether or not you pay them. One guy told me, “I got you regardless” and i gave him a few bucks. i snuck a pair of sunglasses off my face through my slightly open window to a woman who asked politely if she could have them. It was bright in the sun and i had other pairs. She said she loved me. i laughed extra loud to be heard through my mask, loving her too. Everything managed for safety in the delight of strangers, and thank fuck for the opportunity of small kindnesses.
Everything is much quieter than i remember. Subdued. Everyone is masked: truly now, good fences make good neighbors. i’m delighted when friends ask me to visit their city backyards, then start fires to warm the distances between us. My fire-building skills have truly leveled up, but i still enjoy watching my pals do their fire-tending thing, blow torches and all.
The day down here is longer. In the evening we take the puppy to the cemetery dog park, and the time is near six before darkness starts to hide her from us as she galavants among friends of all shapes and sizes. Nighttime hits different in the cemetery than on the sidewalks, and as we turn onto the well-lit street outside the gates, there are sounds of wild engines in the distance.
The Wheelie Boyz are known dirtbike aficionados who love to drive as a group through certain cities pulling breathtaking 12 o’clock wheelies on bikes that weren’t really made for pavement. This is a daredevilry i can get behind quite often, though it isn’t always this particular group—inevitably, there have been times when some owners of similar equipment have allegedly decided to be pretty tragically dangerous. It’s rumored that’s why the police won’t pursue these outlaws: city dirtbike riders are said to follow no rules, which means that if chased they may cause more mayhem than if left to startle the traffic of city streets at their leisure. i simply love the spectacle. i appreciate that the unfamiliar, rowdy engines signal to traffic that there might be an impromptu stop, as when sirens are nearby. Memories surface of hanging outdoors on a crowded, drunken street as the bikes, along with three- and four-wheelers, careen through nighttime traffic. Sometimes i can’t count them! Other times i have spied femmes among the boyz. i dig the dramatics, the thrill-seeking, the way this is a big fuck you and also scary. This time we see only two riders, which seems strange, but they do not disappoint as they rush past. They raise their front wheels straight toward the sky, proud and haughty the way kings could be.
As i gawk, my friend notices the next upcoming extraordinary traffic. In the wake of criminal glory proceeds a line of several armored tanks through the same intersection. They head in a different direction, past barricades, toward the US Capitol Building.
Early in the morning, the puppy whines awake, so i meander to her crate and let her out for a wee. i settle back in my couch bed and she snuggles up behind my knees. We rest a while, swapping spoons, before the activity of her family upstairs comes closer. Soon, Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie en Rose” will play softly in the kitchen amid the smells of coffee and chocolate. A fancy meal and decadent beverage are placed in front of me unceremoniously, though i feel all the brilliant pride of being a spoiled guest.
After a year of gorgeous wilderness and fresh fresh air, i thought the concrete jungle might be alarming. Instead, i feel welcomed by these cities full of friends. These are my stompin’ grounds, and i can come home again.
When a grinning face i already appreciate leans into mine with purpose, like they have been waiting for this invitation. A light inside me is seen, and sought; i welcome the approach with equal thrill. The spark driving their own delight is being extended that i might breathe fire right back, and i will. i have found this is a smile i’ll hold dear for much longer than it’s in my life. These are the lips of which i dream. The real stuff of those who’ve kissed me thus has since faded into simpler, more dependable memories: raging parties, empty city streets late at night, rocks with lapping waves. i can revisit the feel of a couch on which i trembled, a sidewalk i swaggered alone, the stench of salty brine, the sweetness of small kindnesses. Recuerdo nos raímos. Smiling, desirous faces so wholly, equally welcomed to share of each other. Sometimes we smiled so hard our teeth touched. Often i’ve been shaky, a little delirious. This is the kind of poetry that doesn’t hold through multiple seasons. It could be a fire that burned hot and fast, or sparks that didn’t fully catch. A sweet, bright bit of warmth in my heart’s hearth. We cannot repeat these moments, memories. Some of this exceptional heat will be felt again though, somehow: a surprise necessarily, an adventure inevitably. Indeed, i will settle for nothing less.
Camilo joins our family just as i depart the great white north toward long-overdue reunions, and unexpected magical gifts. Did you know chickens love radical honesty and maximum creativity? And unlike anything police have ever done, bread by mail was a resounding success.
Rilke reminds me to be “carefree and quiet and immense.” i practice tracking with my favorite hunters. Vermont snow falls soft and pretty, like the ennui that sometimes joins mudita. Not pictured: leaving my family, some real ugly cryin’, and belly laughs with a beloved. If you love it…
i don’t know where i’ve come from but i am escaping as fast as i can, which is about forty miles per hour faster than i can run in real life. i am also agile as a wild cat. In this dream i am not by myself, and among us allies we carry useful objects which i understand will serve people like us by their relocation. We have taken these things from wherever they were before, and we have a phenomenal head start. Whoever is chasing us are unarmed but we are aware that they are better equipped. They are able to communicate quickly, attempting to surround and scatter our unsystematic squad. These hunters aren’t dressed in uniform but when i glance back to see their faces i recognize actors who play cops on whatever shows i watch in waking life. At one point i toss my precious cargo to a comrade just before being cornered by an attacker. i am backed up on a cement doorstep, against a wooden door carved with flowers. Me recuerdo Salamanca, la luz allá. My aggressor slavers in their solicitous attempts to convince me of their righteousness, my own offenses. In their pathetic face i laugh not unkindly, as if at a small child who has made a cute blunder. How tragic to be so wrong. Without more than a scuffle, i scoot out of their grips and away in a flash, unscathed yet shaken. i join back up with my crew quite easily as they stream through the streets as though running with the bulls. We who have liberated these necessities for our survival turn corners as a motley team with nearly cartoonish rounding at full speed. Someone tosses me their burden as they enter a skirmish of their own. There is a playfulness among us that is irreverent to an extreme, full of flare, brazen with a bright audacity; Merry Men and Lost Boys only wish they’d had this much gaiety. ¡Entre lobos debemos aullar! Our rebel platoon weaves and whirls through a city that is a melange of worldly beauty as only dreamscapes can deliver. My brave friends and i skirt temple steps, rush past food vendors, and smack the water in fountains as we careen through neighborhoods of cobblestone and cement, pavement and metal. We know our way because this world is ours. Once in a while a bystander tries to assist those in pursuit, but we are always there to scoop each other up. i land a right hook in the face of someone who has caused one of my brethren to stumble. A mal nudo, mal cuño. The assailant collapses as we scurry away, i lamenting my torn knuckles with a shit-eating grin. Despite our successful evasive tactics and the ever-increasing distance between us and them, our pursuers are undaunted. Indeed, the majority of us are fully aware that they will never quit. Others from our side though have sensed victory and gone to hiding, or collapsed with exhaustion. We urge each other on by turns. i run and run, panting and pushing my wild hair away from my sweaty face, whooping in cheers as i aid y protejo mis compas, “¡Corremos juntas!” We must not stop, no matter how inevitable our win. We continue to run as though our lives and joy depend on it. We help each other. The crusade goes on.
My love, let the memory that has brought heat to your cheeks also warm me next to you in the telling. Do not keep your loving smile a secret, i beg. Your full heart disclosed is such welcome happiness these winter months. When my heart is a child unsure of a stranger with whom its parents are friends, offer your happiness to hold close and carefully. As you share your joy, my own tenderness peeks out from behind my bones, hopeful. Lend me your bliss to press against my breast so that i might draw out my own heart who in this chill refuses to wait patiently for something still unknown. Your delight is my comfort in a time of caution. How grateful i am to be thus kept from the cold.
Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment 