Pig and farm report

 

Word is not responding

Yes I get it Word means brain this morning my son is scampering around on the roof blowing off pine boughs and pine needles and probably a squirrel or two with his goddamn noisy machine and I am panic panicking panic I keep my phone in my hand in case I need to call 911 in a hurry in case something horrible happens up there or down here or worse down there this is take an Ativan kind of panic it is both real and not real and feels a lot like manic

I sliced two onions in half then peeled them then sliced the halves into thin crescent moons put a bit of olive oil and one tablespoon of butter in a pan then piled the onions up to the edge and added salt I am caramelizing onions for a quiche this takes anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours on Lo which means almost no heat on my Black Becky Baker stove I am baking and cooking because my son is actually running on the wet roof with his leaf blower and my stress levels are already out of my skull high be careful oh be careful

out of my skull high is a professional term for my mental sick which is officially bipolar 1 it has been a long time since I’ve had a manic swing not since the beginning of covid but the flooding inside my beautiful house has made me spike Oh Spike Me Jesus

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pass me the screwdriver
even your snow is selfish and wrong headed
an unmanageable stain a kind of hoarding
I abandoned my clothes
break me
I’ll swallow whatever you put in my mouth
stage a fake suicide
guttural momentum
Rocco Peacock
clean boys and roasted hog
the jungle drapes its skin long and wet across my feet
a woman suckles a piglet
oh plague oh Mena

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part of this manic feeling this need to pummel yeast and flour eggs and onions yams and giant green squashes is because my house is still tipped upside down my son has completely moved into the precious empty outer outer room so he only has two walls and basically no privacy unless I stay in my own bedroom which makes me feel trapped and rusty it makes me feel like a rusty trap one that might bite and snap and I think I did just snap and bite at my son after he came down from the roof like Jesus on a Bender you might wonder why I have a completely empty second living room in my house that is what happens when you live with a hoarder I feel terrible for snapping at my son

I’m sorry
I’m sorry

on Sunday I was doing laundry and watching tv and I heard leaking in the walls I muted the tv and it was still happening I ran to see if the washing machine was spilling out sending water everywhere but it was not then I walked to my closet to peek at the new water heater but there she stood tall silent and sentry I finally opened the back door to see if the sky was falling but I heard someone mowing their lawn that was the noise

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Sunday wears a beaky mask
stuffed with sweet herbs and flowers
meant to hide the smell of sickness
my son has the first apocalypse dream
we drive to the beach at dusk
and talk about ghosts
until I cry but I keep the tears
inside my eyelids
I dream a conga line of men
in my yard dancing their way into the ocean
dropping one by one
I am ripe and my blood is high

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in truth I’m happy I love living here and things are going to start getting fixed next Tuesday though I wish they wouldn’t call it demo as in demolition happiness is sometimes fake mania with me so I have to be careful not to be too happy for instance is this happy deep Easter morning happy or is this happy floating on top of mania like a warm winter coat that is still a little too new to be comfortable happy

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in this version of America
a girl in a yellow sweater bee bright
against black hair stands on a stage
the first day of spring
as photographers adjust lights
and microphones waiting
for the turgid man to squat bellow
thick tongued and vile
and attack the press corps

in this version of America
my son and I eat Sunday breakfast
every morning at the kitchen table
and the first day of spring streams
in cold sun and roses open
and cherry trees carry on unperturbed

in this version of America
we are all grieving each day a funeral
as every sparkling proud city closes its ears
puts on blindfolds holds its breath
and descends to its maximum depth

in this version of America
my son and I eat with only the ticking
of the wind up clock
the stunning sense of Equinox
against our voices as we plan the hours
place cloth napkins on our laps
his sky sky blue
mine zinnia orange

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Side note:
Easter used to be my favorite holiday because it meant a new dress and new shoes and usually a hat with an elastic that was supposed to be tucked in back under my hair but I usually kept the elastic around my chin giving me that marionette look and the opportunity for friends to pull the hat up and snap it back. Once I think in 1963 I got a silver sheath dress entirely polyester and tinsel probably 100% flammable and silver shoes MY FIRST HEELS and silver nylons and a silver clutch purse. Damn I was fine. And shiny. Like the Tin Man’s prepubescent daughter. I kept the purse for years and when my son was little he carried his baseball cards around in it then it disappeared. Ahhhhh the 60s. The funny thing is that little clutch purse would be a hot item now. The nylons too.

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The goat traveled around the planet a round
Twinkle Twinkle Little Goat
an old French folk tune
how the goat traveled
one person at a time going sick in the lung
like playing kindergarten piano
or blowing out candles on a damp cake
my goat has not fled my body
very still until horns and hooves clatter away
I have water I can force my body for six hours
go from knock-knock-knocking at death
to cheerful and radiant
it's not that we heal
it’s that we are liars and fakes

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The onions are almost done they have been on the stove for two hours the pie crust is in the refrigerator I’m going to add ¾ cup of cream ¼ cup of milk 4 eggs spinach caramelized onions aged mozzarella cheese a little bit of goat cheese salt pepper and fresh grated nutmeg how I wish how I wish you were here.

 

Thank you, Darklings for reading this far.