Headlong into my third week in Portland. Still sitting on the floor.
But–here’s the bright sunrise–the couch is on its way. Like me, it’s traveling
from coast to coast. The dog has cataracts, maybe. I have bags
under my eyes, new like Christmas presents. Alone, a person feels
her heart changing. What may have been exciting once is a deflated
beach ball past its season. The wind got taken out of her sails. Watched Robert Redford
in his sinking sailor movie last night. He looked old & tired. But (spoiler alert)
he made it through that ordeal. Today, I swear, the world’s more silent.
The homeless man on his corner tells me that Virgos like to bake,
that he loves to bake. The newspaper dispenser is his oven, an empty beer can
his cookie dough. I watch him do it, open the oven to check on things.
I didn’t imagine starting over like this, not with the bracing undertow, the waves.
Josh makes me a surfing metaphor. Because of him, I know how surfers talk,
I understand the physics of the wave. I tried to call Ben today but have been
cut off. No answers. No replies. The bleak October of my heart.