Interesting People

For Wordy Wednesday, I present this poem which is choc-a-bloc with 'em.


“For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers” bY Reginald Dwayne Betts

For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers,
green roses, chrysanthemums, lilies: retrophilia,
philocaly, philomath, sarcophilous—all this love,
of the past, of beauty, of knowledge, of flesh; this is
catalogue & counter: philalethist, negrophile, neophile.
A negro man walks down the street, taps Newport
out against a brick wall & stares at you. Love
that: lygophilia, lithophilous. Be amongst stones,
amongst darkness. We are glass house. Philopornist,
philotechnical. Why not worship the demimonde?
Love that—a corner room, whatever is not there,
all the clutter you keep secret. Palaeophile,
ornithophilous: you, antiquarian, pollinated by birds.
All this a way to dream green rose petals on the bed you love;
petrophilous, stigmatophilia: live near rocks, tattoo hurt;
for you topophilia: what place do you love? All these words
for love (for you), all these ways to say believe
in symphily, to say let us live near each other.

1. Last Thursday I fell at a new client's house. I missed a step from the house to garage. Went down like a sack of potatoes. I sprained my ankle. I have not sought medical care of any kind. It is less painful every day but it looks horrible. I feel like a 19th century surgeon is going to come of the wings with a saw and cut it off. The swelling is going down but the bruise seems to be moving across the foot, like jumping to the base of my toes after a couple of days. It's really disturbing. The colors. I've got range of motion but damn, it's definitely an ugly thing.

But I was asked to be a regular, so though I thought I made a horrible impression, how can I keep your spouse from falling if I can't keep myself upright, I must not have. The Tuesday client did not ask me back, though. I have my Friday guy again. So, it comes and goes as usual.

2. Minor is 15 today. He had a good time on the trip, but he continues to try my patience. For example, I bought two T-shirts from the school store ($$$, one for him, one for me) and he was given them yesterday, put them on his bag and someone stole them by the end of practice. I've got to let it go or it'll drive me crazy.

3. Last Wednesday, the man who had me paint his floor had me weed his stone walkway. I have him tomorrow. We shall see what it brings.

4. I know I am in the pre-menopausal epoch of life and so my cycle is even more erratic than it was. But it will never cease to smack me upside the head with the mood swings. Like every single cycle of my entire god forsaken life, even now, I am wondering...am I depressed? am I crazy? So tearful, so nuttily tearful. And then a couple of days later...I will get an answer. And that answer is YES.

5. Minisculus went to a friend's house on Friday so I was alone with the boys' father and he chose to work all night. We really have nothing to say to each other. Not one thing. And reinforced by the stupid ankle and hormones, I just tipped into despair. I know my fantasies of a RL friend set (friend! not lover!) are just limerence. Just limerence. But I might take an art class at the local community college in the evenings this summer. Just to do something different and maybe make a friend. (but I have made a new ARMY e-friend and that's very exciting. I watched the first episode of The Untamed because of her. It's okay. I don't need to see more).

6. The weight loss is just not happening. I feel like I have no control of anything, hobbling around, eating everything in sight. I wonder if I should quit paying for this program I'm not observing. Then I think 'one more month.' Sometimes I think weight loss has to be a part time job to result in any progress (for me).

7. I am reading Ursula Le Guin's The Disposessed and the DW book club book A Magic Steeped in Poison by Judy I. Lin. And am listening to the latest 2 Shetland series audiobooks. I tried to listen to a Vera Stanhope audiobook (I am eagering anticipating the next Matthew Ven story which should be out in the autumn--all by Ann Cleeves) but I had to nope out of it. Too much Woman Pain and I've got enough of that. I had to put Rebus on hold as the Le Guin is overdue at the library. Will I ever get to my own TBR? Sigh.

But get off the bus, Gloomy Gus! There are still good things happening.

8. Am back to doing ficlets.

9. By pure chance, I happened upon a 4-pack of my favorite facial sheet mask brand Avatara on 50% off because they were seasonal Easter flavors and one of them is called Peep the Glow which makes me smile. Another is called Spring Sparkle. Fun find. I didn't even know they existed and I am sucker for seasonal stuff.

10. I splurged on a Michael's run and bought some ephemera packs. I may be sending y'all spring cards because why not? Spread some cheer. Stop gazing at my own sorry navel and think about somone else. And there's this poem. Sometimes, I like a poem just for a line and this title, it's very good. It deserves to be the title of hardboiled/noir short story.


No Moon Floods the Memory of That Night by Etheridge Knight

No moon floods the memory of that night
only the rain I remember the cold rain
against our faces and mixing with your tears
only the rain I remember the cold rain
and your mouth soft and warm
no moon no stars no jagged pain
of lightning only my impotent tongue
and the red rage within my brain
knowing that the chilling rain was our forever
even as I tried to explain:

“A revolutionary is a doomed man
with no certainties but love and history.”
“But our children must grow up with certainties
and they will make the revolution.”
“By example we must show the way so plain
that our children can go neither right
nor left but straight to freedom.”
“No,” you said. And you left.

No moon floods the memory of that night
only the rain I remember the cold rain
and praying that like the rain
returns to the sky you would return to me again.