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2018-10-11 - 12:17 p.m.
to several futures (not to all)
for a while, the weather felt like heartbreak. our cousin was charismatic, brilliant, erratic, dangerous. while he was still alive, everyone mourned the man he could have been. nobody missed the man he was when he died. then we traveled to albuquerque, where all the flat slabs of color were scoured by wind. as i walked the streets with my son in his backpack, the ceaseless rush of air felt like a cleansing. i was pregnant at that time, but now i am not. we told our families, and then i lost the baby. among all possible paths, one path emerges and we must rise to meet it. how brutally we mourn these other lives, other selves.
* * *
reading: moderan, by david r. bunch. the nyrb collected all these stores in one place. some of them i had read before, here and there, years ago. the man twice tied by conscience to the dead horse of duty was as affecting as i had remembered.
listening to: florence and the machine, seven devils.
working on: cleaning house.
in the garden: i put the side yard garden to sleep for the winter. chickadees and goldfinches come for the seeds from the sunflowers.
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