2 sides to....3 stories


The only person to lovingly move my hair away from my face and neck lately, making me feel tended to...is the fierce wind.


What I always say about the wind;

does it take you against your will?

or carry you home.

does it shape you?

or does it whither you away.


From my third story window today, I let the sunshine kiss my nose and rub my shoulders. Only by faith, because I cannot feel the warmth at all through the wind. Still I feel the tightness loosen in my back, and my pink freckled nose shimmers in the light just like it did when I was 5, sitting on the curb waiting for the parade. Is that the wind howling, or is it the marching band rounding the street corner? I reach to the side of me on the couch where it's empy. My hand lands on a patch of sunlight, and the little patch holds my hand. It will do.


The third story...is me, after my grandmother and my mother have walked through the trenches and tended the garden. It's my third child, kicking me restlessly from inside and begging me to be well enough for her.


From the third story, all the way to the basement, I descend. Sometimes we must descend. The basement is cold and dark a lot but it's where we store things we don't need right away. And when it's time to cook dinner from scratch, you may just need to go fetch some ingredients. Just grab a sweater, throw on some slippers, and grit your teeth. It's a long walk up and down, up and down. But we get things done around here. We count those things up at the end of the day when we try to fall asleep. Hoping to say to ourselves....good job. Good job. Maybe we didn't dance on elephants but we were brave enough to descend, to get what we needed, to get things done.

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