We the daughters

 

We the daughters of bountiful deities 

We the daughters of bountiful deities

dangerous girls taken to the underworld 

changed into our every her and we

so earth burst with wrong flowers

robbed of color we Persephones all hers 

our bags bus tickets and rifles 

on wordless television we every us 

girls together our apples spark

the night sky 

Pig and farm report March the Eighth: storm watch edition

The wind was high this morning so I got out of bed and quietly ran down the hall to turn on the tea kettle and the coffee pot and to heat up the oven so I could bake the dough I prepared yesterday the first time in 15 days I have wanted to bake or eat wheat or much of anything else for that matter.

The best way to count this measure is to think of it as one statement that's divided in its inflection.

1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, 6, 7, 8 then repeat quickly with grace and grief but breathe between 6 and 7 and sail through 8 spin on the edge of a copper penny hold your breath then start again 1, 2, 3, 4.

Wind gets under my skin. It feels like panic needles it ricochets up my spine like some kundalini junkie robot waiting to jump me on a dark street corner and drag me back to my home planet. Wind makes the power flick off then on then off it causes the trees to wave their crazy arms and screech outta the way! outta the way! in their keening tree voices and squirrels bombard my roof with tiny pine cones in their terror. In my wee brain the moon controls the tides which controls the wind which controls the celestial bodies which control not only my thoughts but my mood swings. Huge swathes of mood swings. Crazy Girl mood swings but Crazy Girl no longer lives here just water and big trees and bigger water and waves sloshing up the earth’s crust saying howdy!

The best way to count this measure is to think of it as one statement that's divided in its inflection.

What was Beethoven living in this moment? How many times did he divide the inflection of a measure until it was perfect? If you look at his original scores he tells exactly what he was thinking there and there and then faster there too. He wrote during storms. Like this one. He too hunkered down his ear pressed to the piano’s throat so he could hear the low pounding chords that rolled through everything he ever wrote.

I went outside a few minutes ago to throw my coffee grounds and a little water on my blueberry bushes and a bat flew in front of my face. Luckily she didn’t bring her friends. Bats have never bothered me but they startle when they swift by in their nun’s habits and nun’s stares always looking quite horrified to see me. I told her not to worry and she flitted her way back under the eaves like a black Victorian mourning hankie.

The best way to count this measure is to think of it as one statement that's divided in its inflection.

This is what I learned from playing and recording the entire cycle of Beethoven symphonies. That and don’t cry.

I’m breathing through the wind storm. Deep sucking breaths that taste like every psychiatrist I’ve ever seen in a professional setting. They always said just take a breath now which I always did deep sobby furry screamy wet breaths that felt like drowning. If you tell me to take a breath these days I might just reach out to slap your mouth. It turned out the breaths helped nobody except the psychiatrists themselves. Telling a person in trauma to just breathe is horrible and cruel.

I am roasting garlic now my oven redolent and broken things to do with my hands while waiting for the tides to recede. The good news is my shingles pain didn’t kick in until just now the longest I’ve gone without feasting on gabapentin and Tylenol first thing in the morning. I’m sitting on my bed with Jupiter snoring loudly and Hal curled in a tiny ball at my side. I feel both loved and a little bit like Meg waiting for the witches to appear and I can keep an eye on the fickle trees from here in case they decide to whip into my bedroom my snowy white bed my down comforter oh the comfort of finally having a good sturdy bed after so many years of sleeping on flattened cardboard boxes that served as a balm against the sprung box spring in that old damp sooty house.

You're out of the woods

You're out of the dark 

You're out of the night

Step into the sun 

Step into the light

Keep straight ahead for the most glorious place

On the Face of the Earth or the sky

Hold onto your breath

Hold onto your heart

Hold onto your hope

March up to the gate and bid it open 

Open!

I’m making an extraordinary clean soup with spring onions wee carrots young turnips white beans and half a zucchini sliced thin and one baby bok choy leaves and all. I added a bouquet garni of fresh thyme and dill salt and pepper some dried herbs de Provence some pepper flakes salt and pepper lemon juice and clear vegetable stock. I’m just letting it simmer on the stove because the shingles are making the right side of my back to seize up again. Bloody hell.

Pig and farm report March the fifth

 

rabbit

little one eye nothing 

there is no redemption 

turn the key name your children Flood 

and Agency the river is on fire dropped 

back into its muddy socket my left

hand stitched as the dragon 

bowl shattered I’m sorry 

I forgot the names of everything 

my stupid head made a racket

what will you leave 

what will you carry

Pig and farm report March the second

 

I have blisters all over my back. Six days ago I sent a photo of a small section of it to my darling friend Mary Moon and she told me it looked like shingles because damn she is smart and she knows things. I right away called my doctor and they said can you get here in 20 minutes? Holy crap I can’t ever get into the clinic in under six weeks so that was kind of scary. I’m all set up with gabapentin and Valovyr (that’s not the actual name, but I’m lying in bed and don’t have the pill bottle next to me but it’s like Aclovyr but a billion times stronger. Horse pills I take three times a day. Crap.

Enough of all that stuff nobody needs to hear it but if you think you have an itchy blister, get yourself to a nunnery.

Ps. The doctor I saw, Oksana,  who I have long suspected of being a nazi) took one look at my back and said CONGRATULATIONS YOU HAVE SHINGLES! As though I had just won washing machine on a game show.

Day six of My Shingles Travel Diary

First destination: bed

Second destination: kitchen

Final destination: bathroom

Rinse, and repeat

This here is a cloud of brand new $30 white sheets from Wally World. I haven’t purchased new sheets since I moved in here seven years ago. They are too gd expensive so this is a very big deal for me. My old 2 sets of sheets had no workable elastic on them And we all know about what happens when the elastic is gone from anything, underwear and sheets being kind of the worst, so both old pair are now basically worn tablecloths. I’m waiting for my son to get here to put the new sheets on because I can’t move my arm without screaming Pain Demons. 

Just saying hello but I’m shaky. Reading The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki my second read. It’s huge and deep and wild and thoughtful and tender and heartbreaking and I needed a comfort book and a heartbreaking book because the shingles hurt so bad I just want to weep and this allows them to appear.

Also: I’m completely out of chocolate and just writing that made well up with stupid tears. Kids, please get a shingles vaccination. And send emergency chocolates.

A paragraph from The Book of Form and Emptiness 

March the First

The girl’s names were Alice the boy’s names were Jack. Their room was a wheel on a ship. Approach cautiously. Rouge was the place they were looking for. Play wounded in battle. Trism Bear scouted the courtyard. Bears have no patience with rhetoric. Drink up feel the beer rise. Alices disappeared in the past making police work difficult. Take care at the conference of birds plague masks unguents curious recipes. Alices lowered the shawls from their foreheads under the influence of pebbles. Jacks leapt to their feet. Safety’s luxury came late. Broken glass on the Marilyn Shrine honey pots butters a candle made from fat. The moon was down but there was enough light for horses to ford the river. Cherished a secret grudge against breathing machines. Did not let Trism Bear hear. Alices and Jacks were homeless and waiting for food. Desolation Point. The difficult miracle of anvil and wince. They are what was found there.