All posts tagged: stray thoughts

Yellowstone canyon | edge of evening

Postcard from now: canyon

Like the diaries I tried to keep as a child, the blog seems harder to come back to the longer I leave it. The gap between the ‘I’ and I myself growing until it is like the Yellowstone canyon we looked out over in the summer —not particularly wide, but deep, so very deep. * Walking into town one morning last week, I waved at a playground acquaintance walking in the other direction. You’re alone! she called across the street. Yes, I replied. I feel very alone. You’ll have to get a job! she shouted. Yes. I will. She too was alone, I later noted. But, yes, she does have a job. * (The waving. A tick that I can’t seem to stop. I greet everyone with hi and a small wave, as though I think everyone I meet is two-years-old.) * There is the usual question of what the normal week might look like. First there is the week when the older two go back to school. Then there is the week when the …

Geranium | edge of evening

Headlong

Last night the knife slipped when I was making dinner. When I uncurled my right hand from the middle finger of my left, ready to see the fresh red of my blood, there was nothing. Looking closer at a finger that throbbed numbly but wasn’t bleeding, I saw that I had sliced right through my fingernail. A thin line of red appeared: a backslash on the nail bed. I called B to come and finish chopping the onion. This morning I’ve come out to the coffee shop to be looked after by the beautiful young people. Girls with glossy long hair and impossibly thin waists. Boys with plaid shirts and black skinny jeans. They bring my coffee to me and I sit and watch them work and read Kate Zambreno. The place is full of newborns. I feel like I’ve been crying all night — though in reality the tears are constantly at the back of my eyes, prickling, threatening to fall. “What has been omitted?” asks Zambreno. “What has been scratched out? Days, lives, wives.” She is writing …