Something Wonderful is Underway

I had a sister once and once I had a mother. Reading half a dozen memoirs about Cape Cod, ending with Thoreau. Cities in my head, lakes in my heart. We talk about money, I pick at the chair arm, wishing there was another way to live. You grow old and die, yet something does not grow old and die, yet remains mostly a mystery, why should this be. Simon, Bridget, Seamus, Jake, and Song – I’m coming my loves, I’m coming. Lemon trees, fig trees. When we killed the goats I collapsed in the kitchen after, moaning with grief, and I still have not finished making amends. You can’t fake jazz, he said, to which I said you can fake anything, to which he said, not jazz, and his confidence made me so happy I forgot what we were arguing about. May our uselessness not lead us to forget the Lord’s love! In my dream, corn tassels whisper over the miles, assuring me that something wonderful is underway. Near dawn the living room fills with divine cephalopods so yeah, I’m still feeling the effects of the psilocybin. Maybe I don’t want to be crucified after all? Sundays are for cleaning the prisms, the rest of the week it’s just how much loveliness can you stand. Whole days strung together like jewels, a song in their structural extension that I cannot help but love to hear.