Take it or leave it
Dear _______,
I tried really hard to come up with something brilliant to say today. I even went through the week paying attention for ideas for a letter. There were plenty, as usual. And I even did some special things that are very much worth writing about.
But by the time I finally sat down to write they had all shrunk to dry stories or overwhelmed me with their personal meaning. I lit three candles and two sticks of incense and ate lots of chocolate and still couldn’t come up with something. Plus, it was late and I had already spent my free time tonight writing this poem. And I got my period. I mean really, it was a losing battle.
After a few desperate handfuls of chocolate chips while I started and stopped, I figured maybe that poem was my gift for the day and that I shouldn’t try to force a prosaic or worse, didactic, letter
So there you have it but hey, I’m still here - writing to you.
-m-
PS - that is a real recurring dream I used to have (about the stairs)
PPS - This is the album I was listening to today. I assume the songs jogged the poem loose. I never listened to them before. But yesterday they just popped into my head and I landed on this album. Sometimes that happens - and I can only assume that someone, somewhere, gave me a music recommendation so I take it seriously. Whoever it was had good instincts. It orients my brain to me, clears the static outside, and lowers my collarbones. Receiving this music is as easy as breathing and . . . you know, it’s nice to have something easy these days. So, thanks.
OK here’s the poem.
Downstairs
How do you turn off love?
I haven’t figured it out.
I’m still stuck on:
Why would I?
You remind me of a song,
it’s golden brown
like sun
through honey
through river shallows
through sassafras tea.
You are a song within the song,
utterly perfect unto yourself
like
a jewel box
a book of prayers
or a fresh-spun spiderweb.
How do you turn off love?
Love is intriguing
so I guess . . .
all I have to do is find
a way to make love boring,
maybe that will work.
But . . . I am always going
down to love in my dreams.
Down steps and stairs to see it.
I hear music through a door,
from a narrow white stairwell, a song is playing.
I sneak through the door
and start down the steps.
I’m about to do something wild
and nice
and final . . . I just know it.
How do you turn off love?
Don’t walk down the stairs.
Talk yourself out of it.
You were probably imagining it anyway.
I haven’t had that dream in a long time . . but
you remind me of that song.
(Today’s pick was With Teeth by Nine Inch Nails. Chris says I’m going emo at 41 . . . which is fine with me if it means I get to enjoy this music finally!)