Points of Entry
Standing at the window in the city, my shaking hands holding a mason jar full of tansy tea, my throat closing and my eyes watching my future disappear.
Sitting alone at the green granite countertop, a dozen long-stemmed red roses dropping petals on my hair, Valentine’s Day 2010.
Watching the light move across that tree, surrounded by sage and yarrow and shale, car parked in the quiet dust. Footprints vanishing.
Ten years old, my kitten hit by a car and dead, a year of trying to bring her back to life, a year of crazed obsession with resurrection and rapture and faith, an
Easter that brought nothing with it.
On the dirt road, my arms and legs wrapped around his struggling body, my shirt holding his face on, my nearly naked body covered in blood and flies and terror, watching him die in my arms.
Lying on those smooth, curling rocks, piled around like sentinels, the clouds were swimming elephants above us, the nearly empty bottle of champagne, dust in my eyelashes and under my skin– under that unexpected sky.
Walking the cobblestones at midnight, magnolia blossoms crushing under my boots, the streetlights flickering and dying as I traveled on.
Holding the knife in the car that night, my tooth chipped, my eye blackened, my heart broken, dreaming of the impossibility of revenge.
Raven Steals Fire hanging on the pale green wall of the apartment, an acacia tree emerging on canvas, the blue moon, my body bursting into arcs of flame, tinder everywhere I look, and sparks flying from my eyes.
Kneeling on the cold tiles by the bathtub, trying to put my bloody sister back together, trying to quell the panic rushing through the air, holding on to calm by sheer force of will.
My hands and arms wrapped in sheets, pulling against them in agony, my body splitting open and then, seeing her lovely eyes for the first time, my little girlfish starfish morganchild emerging into the world.
Driving to town, New Year’s Day 2009, buying a pack of Marlboros, watching my world falling, slowly, to pieces.
The faith healer ranting and raving and yelling up front, watching my cousin get wheeled up the aisle, understanding my faith was not enough to heal her, and that it was all my fault.
On the top floor of that little house, hummingbird trapped in the windowpane, ‘are you sure, are you certain, are you ready?‘