its August 12, 2015
I am sitting half here half not
Day is starting
or rather it is halfway through
I don’t like when leaves look scorched by the sun
it rained the day before
Rain doesn’t affect the leaves that have already dried.
I didn’t know I loved women as friends
can someone who has never been friends with women long enough
say I love them?
“it must be my only platonic love”
All this time I gave my allegiance to the opposite sex
Cataloging their presence and their absence with almost methodical accuracy
Until redundancy of it all glared at me like a lion at Southwick Zoo
-Get me out of here, it only looks nice if you are a visitor-
Before zoos became objectionable in my mind
But long before my friendship became objectionable in yours…
I don’t know
Whether I should have sat motionless and said nothing
Like a heap of old grass, withered leaves on the ground ready for the cold
If you forgot that I was sitting there, forgot that leaves were there
Like an irresponsible landscaper.
Snow would shield me/them until next spring…
But wearing white doesn’t make one innocent or pure
Otherwise all brides would be virtuous and faithful by default
I was neither.
I didn’t know I don’t like being immoral.
I didn’t know that you didn’t either.
I know that laughter really is the best medicine
Laughing with you, however, is something I am yet to do.
I know that none of circular banality of my thoughts has troubled people before
And I know it will not trouble those after me
Or at least I hope it doesn’t.
I don’t like when people communicate in an all-knowing voice
Whether they understand that it robs them of humility
Which quite possibly is the highest form of being human
I know all this has been said and felt a million times before
“and will be said after me”
I didn’t know I loved thunderstorms as much as I feared them
First chapter’s Jane Eyre loved them too, as she stood by the window waiting for change
Change that thunderstorms inevitably bring
And now I know you love them too.
What change are we waiting for?
I didn’t know I loved the ominous sky
Much more than the unspoiled azure
I always liked Babel’s Benya Krik with his dizzying synchronized preference for blood and passion
Predictability yet again – all girls like bad boys.
I didn’t know how much I liked them
Until I watched him whizz by us intoxicated
I heard voices
Not from the window of my car, but from anyplace inside my fondness for depravity
Nourished all the more by the voices inside your head
Voices in mine –
I didn’t know how much I hated them
Until I saw you struggle with your own.
I didn’t know how much I loved alcohol –
Its bare ability to make one comfortable in London, Rome and Moscow all the same
My dear, the problem with voices is solely in their multitude
If you can silence most except one –
All is well that ends well.
(Did you know that the above was the first title Tolstoy chose for his eventual ‘War and Peace’
Yes-yes, the one Nazim Nihmet translated in prison, but the one that Tolstoy wrote trying to extricate himself from the prison of his mind)
This is why I like literary criticism. It makes me kinder. Never to envy anyone’s gift. It comes in a gift-box few people can lift.
“I never knew I loved roads”
Unless that road is away from time with you.
My husband behind the wheel we’re driving from Los Angeles to Boston
Formerly three letters that could have spelledl PhD
“the two of us inside a closed box”
And I am thinking of what could have been with him and many before him.
But I didn’t have you to tell me that these are just thoughts.
Back then it was just me and my voices.
I didn’t know how much I hated them until I saw you struggle with yours.