The Kitchen is Cold; The Coffee is Warm

I want to be a kaleidoscope, an eclectic sparkling thing, all bits and pieces of beautiful; glinting shards and shiny baubles. I want to reflect the light and all that is good in the world; send it bouncing back out into the universe, all shattered and shimmering. I want to make no sense, except the sense you make of something too dazzling to fully understand; a whirling chaos of beauty. But in my efforts I’ve learned that there is a fine line between a kaleidoscope and a plain old mess. Sometimes I look at the people around me and wonder where they put their weaknesses. Maybe they’ve hidden them under their chairs, palms sweating and ankles crossed, praying no one will look. I seem to wear mine on my sleeve.

Maybe it’s just that I’m tired. Once upon a time I could sleep anywhere: in the car, on planes, even sitting up, if the chair wasn’t too hard. These days it takes a comfy bed, total darkness, and Lunesta to coax me into slumber. Anyway, I’m always tired, and this issue with my body at times demands a certain sort of Gnosticism to maintain my sanity; a sort of wishful thinking about the separation of body and soul. My body is sick, but I am not. I am free and full and alive. I am a kaleidoscope, or would be, if not for the clutter of my body.

I would be so many things.

I know we are one and the same, though, my body and I. I look forward to the day we make peace, whether that be in this life or the next, but for now the beast breathes down the back of my neck.

The other night I dreamed that I was dead. I was a spirit or a ghostly thing, still attached to this world but unable to engage in it. No one could hear or see me; I passed through walls and anything my hands grasped for. But I could talk to God. Closer in spirit than He had been in life, I experienced an intimacy with Him that I never had before. It was just me and God as I hovered above the treetops. It was frightening in the way most intimacy is, but thrilling too, though I was on the edge of panic in the loneliness I felt being unable to communicate with my fellow human beings.

Back down to earth upon waking, the loneliness remained as I sipped coffee in my pajamas, standing on the hardwood floor of the empty kitchen. The kitchen is cold, the coffee is warm; the sun’s coming up, the day’s just begun, and you’re already bored.
Bored of cheering up, board of calming down, tired of clinging so tightly to the buoys of optimism that keep me afloat.
The hours stretch out vast before me, as they always do, and I hope to use them well, as I always do. Often I hope I can use them to write, but not much has been coming lately.
There are things I could write about—-things I could but I don’t, cause I’m afraid to. Maybe I shouldn’t be so afraid, though; maybe no one would read it anyway.
Except for you. I know you would.
Thank you.

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Happy Hour

I like it when you make me drinks;
Your concentration and precision,
The earnestness of your brow when you eye the jigger,
Your fascination with the elegance of ice spheres.
Whether it’s a classic Martini, a Negroni,
Or the White Russians you make
Just because I like them,
Your competence with adult beverages
Quite frankly draws me in,
And I like to taste the edge of the alcohol
While I watch you move around the kitchen,
Thinking of how glad I am
That it’s me you’re making cocktails for.
All this brings me to my point, which is to say:
Somewhere between sips of my last Gin and Tonic
As I watched you put the lime away
I realized that, these days,
I love you more than ever.




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Kaleidoscope

I want to be a kaleidoscope
An eclectic sparkling thing
All bits and pieces of beautiful;
Glinting shards and shiny baubles.
I want to reflect the light
And all that is good in the world,
Send it bouncing back out into the universe,
All shattered and shimmering.
I want to make no sense,
Except the sense you make
Of something too dazzling to fully understand;
A whirling chaos of beauty.
But in my efforts, I’ve learned:
There is a fine line between a kaleidoscope
And just a plain old mess.


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