stripping to transparency
Sitting now in a very loud coffeeshop on Mississippi, having loaded the over-size dryer at laundry on top of the hill and put 48 minutes of quarters in. The day is gorgeous, sun is shining, actually warmish out there. One of those unexpected days, a blessing, that makes the air and the people in it buzz.
I'm recovering from an emotional hangover. Too much of something last night -- something bumbling, clueless, unaware. SK came over early, we made dinner, we forced our way through a tricky conversation about boys and sex and bodies and strap-ons and... I say it all because it's uncomfortable and I want everyone who reads it to cringe a little. We spoke these things so clumsily, with so little intimacy, as though filling in forms at a doctor's office.
It was as smooth as a sack full of wrenches.
Felt just as warm.
Why? Why push through this way? Why force this out? Why not slow down a little, why not wait, why not touch while talking, why not talk more softly, why not let our eyes see more tenderly the things we were each exposing? We're so good at this kind of sharing?
We will talk more. We will unfold it. We will bring the intimacy back into our words. We will smooth the hard edges and warm the cold joints of these conversations. They will become, in time, part of the flow that sustains us. For today, we sit on separate sides of the river which divides this city, and we think about what we've done.
I'm recovering from an emotional hangover. Too much of something last night -- something bumbling, clueless, unaware. SK came over early, we made dinner, we forced our way through a tricky conversation about boys and sex and bodies and strap-ons and... I say it all because it's uncomfortable and I want everyone who reads it to cringe a little. We spoke these things so clumsily, with so little intimacy, as though filling in forms at a doctor's office.
It was as smooth as a sack full of wrenches.
Felt just as warm.
Why? Why push through this way? Why force this out? Why not slow down a little, why not wait, why not touch while talking, why not talk more softly, why not let our eyes see more tenderly the things we were each exposing? We're so good at this kind of sharing?
We will talk more. We will unfold it. We will bring the intimacy back into our words. We will smooth the hard edges and warm the cold joints of these conversations. They will become, in time, part of the flow that sustains us. For today, we sit on separate sides of the river which divides this city, and we think about what we've done.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 1:19 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home